Chapter Ten
Porter pulled his truck up to the curb in front of Mistletoe Music, his dad’s shop, and cut the engine. The rain had stopped an hour ago, and the sun had poked its head out of the clouds, making Main Street shine like a black, sequined dress.
Cat unbuckled his seat belt and looked out the window. He was excited. Even though the height of Eddie Cole’s fame had been way before Cat’s time, he was still a household name, and kids Cat’s age had been introduced to him through the magic of YouTube and TikTok videos. So he was a big deal. Especially in Marietta.
Looking over at Porter, Cat grinned. He was smiling more lately, some of the weight on his slight shoulders seeming to ease over the last few weeks. “I like not being in school on a weekday,” he said. “It’s sick.”
Porter was still getting acquainted with the middle school lingo. The first time Cat had said something was sick, he’d actually asked what he meant. Is that good or bad? Then he felt eighty years old.
He unbuckled his own seat belt and opened the truck door. “Pretty sick.”
It was Monday, but it was a teacher in-service day, so all the kids were out of school. Justine was behind on grading and had asked if Cat could spend the day at the ranch.
As she’d driven away that morning, and he’d watched her go with his heart in his throat, Cat had asked what they were going to do.
He’d looked down and ruffled his red hair. “Well, a few guests are coming in this morning and I’ll need to get them checked in. But after that, Brooks is gonna take over. Which means we’ve got the day to ourselves. What sounds good, Champ?”
“Can we go to Eddie’s shop?”
This hadn’t surprised him much. Cat had been wanting to meet his dad for a while, and it was the perfect day for it. “You got it. But be prepared, he’s a character. And he dresses weird.”
Cat had laughed, clearly encouraged by this.
They both stepped onto the sidewalk now, the chilly breeze snatching at their jackets. Porter jammed his Stetson down lower on his head and looked over when Cat groaned beside him.
“What?”
Cat didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead.
Porter followed his gaze to a group of girls heading toward them. Giggling, holding their drinks, peering into the shop windows. They looked to be Cat’s age, but it was hard to tell since they were so bundled up.
He looked back at Cat. “You know them?”
“They go to my school.” The look on his face suggested he might like one of them. His freckled cheeks were flushed red. From the cold maybe. But maybe from something else, too.
The girls got closer and Porter clamped his mouth shut, determined not to butt in. Even though what he really wanted was to poke the kid in the ribs and tell him to say hello.
Cat stopped on the sidewalk and bent to tie his shoelace that was already tied. His small back was hunched, his head down in an obvious attempt not to be seen.
It didn’t work.
“Cat?”
One of the girls stopped right in front of him, smiling wide, her braces flashing in the sun. She wore a long, blond braid over one shoulder, and a purple knit hat with a pom-pom on top. She was adorable.
Porter smiled down at her, then looked over at Cat, willing him to stand up and say something. Anything.
Instead, he stared up at her with his mouth hanging open. This was not the precocious kid Porter was used to seeing at the ranch. The fearless one with all the witty one-liners. This kid looked like he wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow him whole.
The other two girls laughed softly and whispered something to each other.
“I’m Amber,” the blonde said, looking up at Porter. “Cat’s in my class.”
“Nice to meet you, Amber. Girls.”
The other two smiled back but were already looking bored. Adults were obviously a buzzkill.
Cat recovered enough to stand up.
“Hi,” he said. His voice, which had a tendency to crack, didn’t today, thank God.
Amber smiled wide, ignoring her friends. Porter was no expert, but it seemed like she might like him, too.
“Are you getting ready for Thanksgiving?” she asked. “My aunt and uncle are flying in from New Orleans. We always make gumbo for them. It’s pretty good.”
Porter watched Cat closely. This poor kid didn’t have family coming in from anywhere. His Thanksgiving would be small, most likely with Justine, her dad and sister. It was his reality, so different from the little girl standing in front of him, probably loved beyond measure and spoiled rotten.
Cat nodded. “My dad…he might be coming to have dinner with us.”
Well, shit. Porter hadn’t expected that. And he had no idea if Cat actually believed it, or if he was just saying it to feel included. Either way, it broke his heart a little.
“That’s cool,” she said.
Amber’s friends tugged on her jacket sleeve. They were ready to go.
“Well…” Cat buried his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you in school.”
“See you in school.”
They walked off, but she waved before they disappeared around the corner.
Staring after her, Cat frowned. “Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what?”
“I don’t like her or anything.”
“Okay. But she seems to like you.”
Cat looked up at him. “She does?”
“Just saying… And it’s okay to like her, you know. If you do.”
“Everybody likes her. Alec James likes her.”
“Who’s Alec James?”
“That kid from the field trip that day.”
Porter sighed inwardly. Ahh. That Alec James.
“Besides,” Cat went on. “She’s nice to everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He seemed grumpy now, surly. Amber was obviously a sore subject. Porter could relate. He was still trying to figure out what he and Justine were to each other.
“I know my dad might not come for Thanksgiving,” Cat said. “But if I find him, maybe I can ask?”
Porter put a hand on his shoulder. “I think if you asked, and Justine said it’s okay, he’d be crazy not to come, Champ.”
This got a small smile. Not huge, but it was something.
“Come on,” Porter said. “Let’s go. My dad’s excited to meet you.”
“He is?”
“He absolutely is. In fact, he asked if I thought you might want to play his guitar a little. You know. To test it out.”
Eddie Cole had a lime-green electric guitar that was almost as famous as he was. He’d played it in one of his most iconic music videos. Everyone knew the lime-green guitar from Mistletoe Magic.
Cat’s face lit up.
“So, you’d like that?” At this point, it was a rhetorical question, but what the hell.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get after it.”
A minute later, Porter was holding the shop door open for Cat. The boy walked through, looking like he’d just arrived at Disneyland. There were glossy instruments everywhere. Customers with stars in their eyes. Shiny platinum albums hanging on the historic brick walls. Even an MTV Video Music Award in a shadow box above the staircase, Eddie Cole’s pride and joy.
It was all here. All the evidence of a life well lived, of a career sprinkled with more than a little magic dust, and some good old-fashioned luck thrown in for good measure.
Eddie was a product of his time, a product of his rock and roll lifestyle, and when he walked gracefully down the stairs in tight leather pants and a leopard print shirt opened to his sternum, Porter had to smile.
“Is this who I think it is?” he asked, grinning down at Cat, his teeth flashing white against tanned skin.
Cat smiled back. All the shyness from his encounter with Amber gone, he stepped forward and stuck out his hand.
Now, this was the kid Porter knew so well. Standing back, he watched with his thumbs hooked in
his belt loops, feeling good that he could make this happen. Not every kid got to meet a rock icon at eleven years old. And for a second, he saw his dad through Cat’s eyes. How cool this must be to shake the hand of one of the most talented guitarists from the second half of this century. At least, Porter thought so.
“You must be Cat,” his dad said. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Hello, Mr. Cole.”
Porter felt a swell of pride at Cat’s manners. Old-fashioned, polite. His grandmother had done a great job with him. And he knew Justine was trying to nurture those things, too.
“You know what they say about Mr. Cole,” his father said. “That’s my dad. Call me Eddie.”
“Okay, Eddie. I have all your albums.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Rock and a Hard Place is my favorite.”
Porter’s dad looked genuinely surprised. It was his favorite, too, but his fans usually liked Mistletoe Magic the best. Which was definitely his most popular.
“A true Eddie Cole connoisseur, I see.”
Cat blushed, obviously happy with the compliment.
“Porter tells me you’re taking lessons at the ranch.”
“Yup.”
“And you named a baby horse the other night? Tell me about that.”
Porter listened as Cat launched into the subject of names, listing all the ones he’d considered before settling on Wookiee.
“It fit the best,” Cat said. “Even though he’s black and he reminded me of Darth Vader at first.”
“That’s a solid name, son.”
“Porter says he’s gonna be big, like his dad. He’s got really long legs and he’s not afraid of anything. He should be good around cattle. That’s what Brooks said.”
“Huh. You know, Porter tried to get me on a horse a few weeks ago, and I fell flat on my ass.”
“Dad…”
“Sorry.” His dad slapped his leather-clad rear end. “Not much padding here. Couldn’t walk straight for two days.”
Cat laughed.
“Anyway, thought you might like to play some guitars in the back. Maybe strum the old Green Goblin. Would you like that?”
“Yes!”
“See that guy over there with the mohawk?” Porter’s dad pointed to an employee showing a woman a drum set. “That’s Kody. He’s going to show you around the shop for a few minutes, and then I’ll come back there and jam with you, okay?”
Cat nodded, looking thrilled.
“Alright then.”
Kody looked up as Cat approached and gave him a fist bump.
“I like that kid,” his dad said, crossing his arms over his skinny chest. “I knew I would. I think he’s a born musician.”
Porter laughed. “You’ve known him for like five minutes.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can tell.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. He wants to ride bulls like his dad.”
They watched as Kody handed Cat a glossy, honey-colored ukulele off the wall.
“His old man, huh?” Porter’s dad said, leaning against the staircase. “Didn’t you say he was going to be in Marietta soon?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Do you think he’ll see Cat?”
“I don’t even think he knows he’s here. He hasn’t been in touch with Cat’s grandma for a while.”
“And she’s the one raising him?”
Porter nodded.
“What a shitshow.”
Kody led Cat off to where the electric guitars hung in the back. The coolest part of the shop, as far as Porter was concerned.
“You know,” his dad said, clasping his hands in front of his snakeskin belt, “he reminds me a lot of you at that age.”
Porter raised his brows.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Believe it.”
“How?”
“Precocious, smart, sensitive…”
“I was never that sensitive.”
“You were. More than your brothers. I worried about that when I sent you here. Actually, I worried about that most of all.”
It had been a hard time in Porter’s childhood, but his dad had made the right decision. He’d been a single father who just couldn’t handle raising three boys on his own at that point in his life, and he’d known it. Giving his sons the gift of a Montana childhood had made them who they were today. Porter would always be grateful for that.
He reached out and touched his dad’s elbow. “But it turned out okay, didn’t it?”
“It did. Marietta was the right place for you boys. And it looks like it’s the right place for this kid, too. I just hope his old man doesn’t screw it up.”
Porter looked over at Cat who was now holding a cherry-red Gibson, looking like he’d won the middle schooler lottery.
“Maybe if he sees Cat, he’ll come around.”
His dad shook his shaggy blond head. “I wasn’t a great father, but I can’t imagine writing my kid off like that.”
“Me neither. And by the way, you were a good dad. It was Mom who was shit at the parenting thing.”
His father stayed quiet at that. If the memory of sending Porter and his brothers to Marietta was a sensitive subject, then the one of their mother leaving was like walking on a sidewalk full of eggshells while wearing combat boots.
“Dad…”
He looked over.
Porter grit his teeth for a second, trying to decide if he should say what he’d been thinking these last few days. The look on his father’s face was guarded. Maybe he already knew. His dad had always been weirdly intuitive when it came to his sons. Even when he used to live two thousand miles away from them.
“What would you say if I told you I was thinking about trying to find her?”
His dad watched him. Then let out a low breath. The shop seemed to grow quiet. Even Cat had stopped strumming the guitar in the back room.
Porter knew his dad had worked hard to put his ex-wife’s memory to rest. She’d abandoned them all, and at the time, he’d still loved her very much. Yeah, they’d had their problems. Plenty. But love had never been one of them.
He studied his dad now and wondered if he should’ve said anything. But at the same time, he felt like he owed it to him. Finding his mom after all this time, and not telling his father, would be like a slap in the face. It was all pretty screwed up anyway, he thought, no matter how he sliced it. Someone would probably get hurt.
But sometime over the last few weeks, the desire to see her had grown and grown, until he couldn’t deny it anymore. And maybe that was because he was genuinely curious. Or maybe he needed to confront her, or know that she was doing okay. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things. And right then, more than ever, he knew exactly how Cat felt.
His dad looked down at the hardwood floor for a minute, before looking back up at Porter. His eyes were somber. “I don’t know, son. I’m not sure she wants to be found.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that.”
“Can I ask you why?” he said. “After all this time?”
Porter nodded toward Cat.
His dad sighed. “Of course. Of course that’s it.”
“It’s not all of it. But watching him go through this has stirred some things up for me.”
“Well, it would. Have you talked to your brothers about this?”
“No, but I will. I wanted to run it by you first.”
“And what if I told you not to do it?”
Porter rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“No. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
A distinct silence fell over them. A diesel truck lumbered down Main Street and shook the single-paned windows. People stopped on the sidewalk and peered inside at the instruments, their breath fogging up the glass. Cat began strumming another guitar from across the shop, but everything still felt delicate and quiet.
Porter felt his shoulders stiffen. “I don’t know… I thought I’d come to terms with her leaving a long time
ago. But I haven’t. I’m still pissed. More than pissed, I’m…” He found he couldn’t even finish the sentence, because he didn’t know what he was.
His dad gave him a small, rueful smile. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I guess I want her to know some things. I’m not sure if I’ll really be able to put her behind me until I do this.”
“Is that what you want? To put her behind you?”
Porter shrugged.
“Or are you hoping for some kind of relationship with her?”
And there it was. The one-million-dollar question. If someone had asked him that a month ago, he would’ve said hell no. But now, watching Cat navigate the unknown toward his own father, he had to admit, there was a part of him that wondered what it would be like having both parents in his life again.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m really not.”
His dad shook his head, the diamond studs glittering in his earlobes. “It doesn’t matter. It sounds like you need to do this, regardless. And I’ll support you, no matter how it turns out.”
Porter looked over at Cat, who had his head bent over the guitar in his lap. He was too short for the stool he was sitting on. By a lot.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said, his voice low.
He had no idea how it would turn out. For him, or for Cat. But the wheels were set in motion for both of them.
Nothing to do now but sit back and hold on tight.
Chapter Eleven
Justine sat back in her chair at the ranch house’s big dining room table and looked around at the group of guests who’d just finished their dessert. Everyone was laughing, talking in low tones, as the fire crackled from the other room. It was a dusky, cold Sunday evening, with stars beginning to sparkle outside the foggy windows.
“Coffee, hon?”
She glanced up at Daisy and smiled. “No, thank you. I’m stuffed. I can’t even sip on anything else.”
“I know the feeling, but you get used to it. Meals are kind of a big deal out here.”
She let her gaze settle on Porter, who was showing Cat how to make a bird out of his folded napkin. When he’d called that morning to invite them to dinner, she’d made an apple pie, her favorite. Everyone seemed to have liked it, cleaning their plates and asking for seconds. This made her happy, since she loved baking. And as she watched Cat lick some whipped cream off his finger, she vowed to do it more often. It was good for her heart.
The Montana Cowboy's Heart Page 8
