The Montana Cowboy's Heart

by Kaylie Newell

  “I’m going to miss you when you go. And I’m gonna miss the ranch and Porter, and everyone. Especially Wookiee. He’s awesome.”

  Cat leaned forward then and took a bite of eggs. She was glad.

  “But we don’t have to be talking like this,” she continued quietly. “We don’t have to worry about leaving for a while yet. We can just enjoy it while it lasts, right?”

  “Yep.”

  She watched him carefully, trying not to look like she was watching him carefully. Right then, he reminded her of a delicate spring bud—struggling to break through the soil to the sunlight on the other side. He was trying so hard to be strong, trying to lean into what was happening to him, instead of fighting it, like he’d fought his entire life.

  Pushing away from the table, she got up to get his Pop-Tart, so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

  *

  Porter drove slowly through the muddy parking lot, trying not to splash the people walking by. The fairgrounds were packed full of trucks and trailers. Country music thumped from the covered arena to their right, and several food trucks were parked close, the smell of cooking meat wafting through the air.

  It was a cold day, with a fine mist clinging to the windshield, but nobody seemed to mind. Most of the snow from the other day had melted away, so people had come out in droves. It felt like a big country party.

  Beside him in the passenger’s seat, Cat was quiet. He hadn’t said much since leaving the ranch, only making small talk every now and then to break the silence. He’d told Porter about calling Amber and they’d joked a little about their bet, but mostly, he’d just stared out the window.

  Porter glanced over at him now. He wore a camo baseball cap, and one of Brooks’s old Carhartt jackets that was too big for him. He was every bit a rancher’s kid. He was also a good kid with a big heart. And today, he might get it completely broken.

  Working his jaw, Porter pulled into a parking space between two horse trailers and put the truck into park. He cut the engine and took a deep breath, wanting to say something to help Cat with this, but not knowing what. The truth was, he understood firsthand what was at stake here, and that last thing he wanted was to lie to him.

  “How are you doing, Champ?” he asked.

  Cat unhooked his seat belt. “I’m good.”

  “Nervous?”

  “A little. But not too bad.”

  “Have you thought about what you’ll do if we don’t see him today?”

  Cat frowned. “Yeah… I think I’ll just let it go for a while. Maybe I’ll try to find him in a few months or something.”

  Porter nodded. There were so many people here, there was a good chance they might not see him even if he did show up. It was a crapshoot. But at least Cat would feel like he tried, like they gave it their best shot. And honestly, that might be the most important thing for him right now anyway. Trying was half the battle.

  “I think that’s smart,” he said. “I think it’s going to be okay either way.”

  Cat dug into his pocket and brought out a tattered picture. It looked like it had been folded and unfolded about a hundred times.

  He held it up to Porter. “Just so you know, this is what he looks like.”

  Porter narrowed his eyes at the picture—at the skinny young man holding a baby on his hip. Even without it, he would’ve been able to spot Calvin Roberson in a crowd. Not only was Cat his spitting image, but that fiery hair would be visibly burning, even underneath a Stetson.

  He nodded. “Ready, Champ?”

  “Ready.”

  They climbed out of the truck into the chilly Montana morning. The smell of cooking food was stronger now, and Porter pulled it into his lungs. From across the parking lot, they could hear the announcer begin listing local sponsors.

  Porter rested his hand on the back of Cat’s neck, and they headed toward the front gates like they’d known each other a very long time.

  Inside the arena, they stood looking up at the bleachers.

  “A lot of folks up there,” Porter said. “What do you say, Champ? Do you want to sit down, or take a look around?”

  Cat frowned. “Let’s sit down. Maybe we’ll be able to see better from up there.”

  They made their way up the bleachers and sat down next to an older woman decked out in turquoise jewelry. She turned and smiled, her hoop earrings catching the light.

  “Good morning!”

  Porter tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

  “Did you two get a program? I have an extra if you want.”

  “We’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

  He opened it up and ran his index finger down the schedule for the day, then tapped the morning slot and leaned toward Cat. “Looks like horses this morning, yearlings mostly. Then cattle this afternoon. I think your dad would be here for the horses.”

  Twisting around, Cat craned his neck. “It’s so crowded.”

  That it was. Porter looked around at the sea of cowboy hats. At all the men and women in boots and jeans. If they saw Calvin today, it would definitely be a stroke of luck.

  “Are you two here to shop?” the woman next to them asked. “Or just for fun?”

  That’s a big neither. But Porter wasn’t about to go into it with a total stranger. He smiled. “For fun.”

  “Well, this is the place to be then.” She leaned around him to wink at Cat. “Who knows, your dad might just have to buy you a horse today.”

  “Oh…no,” Porter said. “No, I’m not his dad. Just a friend.”

  She glanced from one of them to the other. “Oh, I’m sorry. You two just look so much alike.”

  He and Cat stared at each other. Then smiled. They actually didn’t look anything alike. But maybe it was the bond between them that she could see.

  “That’s okay,” Cat said. “He’s kind of like a bonus dad.” He said this evenly, without hesitation.

  Porter’s chest warmed, and the woman shook her head. “Well, I knew it had to be something.”

  Down in the arena, a man in a white cowboy hat led a chestnut filly in, and a collective ahhh moved through the crowd.

  “Folks,” the announcer boomed over the loudspeakers, “our first horse this morning has a lot of potential. Her mama and daddy were both career rodeo, and she’s got calf roping in the blood.”

  People started shooting their cardboard numbers in the air, and the bidding officially began. For a few minutes, Porter just sat there enjoying the sound of the auctioneer’s voice. Not as fast as some he’d heard, but at least he could understand what the guy was saying. Cat sat next to him, watching the little filly being led around the ring.

  “Do you think she’ll get a good home?” he asked, sounding worried.

  Porter looked down at him. Cat was so sensitive. The world could be hard on kids like him. When you felt deeply, you hurt deeply, too.

  “Well, this is a special auction. Marietta has a lot of rules about the buyers here. It’s a place for ranchers, and for people who want to buy a horse for a companion or a working animal. Other kinds of buyers aren’t welcome. It’s not like that everywhere, unfortunately, but it is here.”

  This seemed to satisfy Cat, who sat back and watched the little horse being led out, and another being brought in—this one a brown colt with a white star on his forehead.

  They sat there for another hour, scanning the crowd for a cowboy with red hair. For anyone who might look remotely like Cat’s father from a distance. People came and went, walking up and down the bleachers with their hot dogs and warm pretzels. Others formed a line below for the bathroom, or a cold beer. But still no Calvin Roberson.

  “Hey, Champ,” Porter finally said, nudging Cat in the ribs. “Hungry?”

  Cat nodded.

  “I’m getting cold just sitting here, anyway. Why don’t we grab a bite to eat and walk around a little? See what we can see.”

  “Okay.”

  They stood and made their way down the bleachers as the auctioneer cried out, “Sold! Right
there to the fellow in blue!”

  The crowd clapped as another horse, the last of the bunch, was brought into the ring. After that, according to the program, it would be cattle for the rest of the afternoon.

  Porter stepped down onto the dusty arena floor with Cat behind him. The smell of cooking meat permeated the misty air and his stomach growled. Getting something to eat was a good plan. They’d refuel, get the blood flowing in their legs, and take a look around the other side of the arena.

  They got in line for a hot dog, and stood there, shoulders hunched, hands in their pockets. It was obvious that Cat didn’t feel like talking, and Porter wasn’t going to push. He’d talk when he was ready. Maybe later they’d head back to the ranch and go for a horseback ride. That might get him talking. Or at the very least, in a better head space to be able to process the day.

  The line moved up, and Porter looked around. They had a better vantage point down here. From their spot in line, he could not only see into the arena, but also the covered pens where the horses and cattle were being kept. Dust rose from dozens of hooves pacing nervously back and forth. Cowboys stood at the gates, some leaning against the splintering wood, and some milling about, talking and laughing in small groups.

  Porter narrowed his eyes at them, trying to see anything familiar, anyone that looked like the man in the creased picture Cat had tucked inside his pocket.

  Cat was looking over, too. Taking it all in.

  The line moved up and they moved with it. “What sounds good?” Porter asked. “Those nachos look pretty amazing.”

  If Cat heard him, he didn’t let on. Instead, he kept staring over at the pens where the cattle huffed and pawed at the dirt, their breath rolling from their noses in clouds of silver.

  Porter followed his gaze. “What?”

  “There,” Cat said, his voice hoarse. “Over by the gate closest to us. You see that guy in the green jacket?”

  There, where Cat pointed, was a man who had his back turned. He was leaning with his elbows on the fence, one boot on the lowest slat. Another guy was talking to him, pointing out a particular steer in the herd. The man in the green jacket nodded and pushed his Stetson up on his forehead to reveal a shock of flaming-red hair.

  Porter heard Cat pull in a breath. His own heartbeat kicked up a notch. An unmistakable physical reaction to what had started out as a purely emotional outing. A day where a son might find his father again. And might find out answers to questions he wasn’t really ready to ask.

  Porter studied the man from behind. They were too far away to be able to tell for sure…

  Cat fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot. “It looks like him.”

  Porter knew he hadn’t seen his father in a long time. It was possible Cat wanted it to look like him. But this was exactly why they were here. It was the moment they’d all been anticipating for weeks.

  “Should we go over and take a closer look?” Porter asked.

  Cat swallowed visibly. Then nodded.

  They stepped out of the food line—the thought of eating, now turning Porter’s stomach.

  They walked side by side, but as they got closer to the pens, Porter shortened his strides. It was hard to know exactly how much support to offer. He wanted Cat to know that he was here for him, but he didn’t want his presence to interfere, either. This was Cat’s moment. And it was delicate as a spider’s web.

  They came to a stop a few yards away from the man in green. He was still standing with his back to them, his cream-colored cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. His shoulders were hunched as he studied the cattle. He was alone now, the man he was talking to before swallowed up by the crowd. It was the perfect time to approach him, if that’s what Cat decided to do.

  Porter put his hand on Cat’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “What do you think, Champ?”

  Cat didn’t take his eyes off the man in green. It was like they were glued there, watching for any sign of familiarity, anything that would bring back a memory or two. Porter thought back to sitting in that Italian restaurant with Justine, waiting for his mother. He knew how hard Cat’s heart was beating inside his chest. He knew how dry his throat was, how his tongue felt like cotton in his mouth. But most of all, he knew all about the doubts that were racing through his mind at that moment. What had he done wrong? Why hadn’t he been good enough? If his own father didn’t care enough to stick around, who else would?

  Porter ground his teeth together, feeling the muscles in his jaw bunch almost painfully. He took his hand off Cat’s shoulder and took a small step back. “Whatever happens,” he said, his voice low, “I’ll be right here, okay?”

  Cat looked up at him, his eyes bright. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. It was entirely possible he didn’t know what to say, and Porter understood that, too.

  Looking back at the man in green, Cat squared his small shoulders. Then took a breath and stepped forward.

  The auctioneer’s voice boomed from the arena to their right, and the temperature seemed to have dropped in the last few minutes. The tips of Porter’s ears felt numb, his fingers tingling inside his jacket pockets. It felt like the world around them had receded, and it was just the boy approaching the man who might be his father. Porter watched with his heart in his throat.

  Cat came to a stop behind the man in green. Then reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

  Still holding onto the fence, the man turned just enough to look down at the boy behind him. His cowboy hat sat so low, Porter could barely see his face. Just the shadowy lower half of his jaw, peppered with rusty stubble. A hard mouth. Fair skin that had seen far too much sun over the years.

  Cat stared up at him.

  And then, the man grew still. His mouth dropped slightly, his expression going slack. Slowly, very slowly, he turned the rest of the way, until he was facing the boy in front of him. In the distance, the auctioneer bellowed a sold! that reverberated over the fairgrounds. But the man and boy didn’t seem to hear. They just watched each other, oblivious to the people around them. Of the sights and sounds and smells of the auction. For a moment, it was just the two of them.

  “Tommy?” The man’s voice was low, uncertain.

  Porter could see his face now, his eyes, that were unmistakably Cat’s. Or Cat’s, that were unmistakably his. There was a look of shock in them, utter disbelief.

  Even though Cat had planned on coming today, and even though he’d known this moment might happen, it was clear that he hadn’t believed it with his whole heart. Probably, he’d been protecting it. Telling himself that either way, he’d be fine. He’d be okay.

  But now, here he was. Looking into his dad’s face. A face that looked so much like his own.

  Porter stood there with his hands in his pockets. He balled them into fists, trying to remember what it felt like to be eleven years old and missing his mother. He’d been wrong before. This moment was much more delicate than a spider’s web. It was the dewdrop that hung precariously on its strands.

  Cat took a step forward. He had to tilt his head back to see into his father’s face. Calvin wasn’t a big guy, but he was tall enough. He was tough and wiry, like his son. He also looked like he was at a complete loss for words. Luckily for him, Cat spoke first.

  “It’s me, Dad. It’s Cat.”

  “Cat…”

  “That’s what everyone calls me.”

  Calvin Roberson blinked. The sun had poked through the misty clouds above, and the golden afternoon light slanted across his face.

  “What the hell?” Calvin glanced around. “Are you with your grandma?”

  “Grandma is in Missoula. She’s been sick.” Cat said this evenly, and with an unmistakable tone that said Calvin should’ve already known about Nola’s health. “She sent me to Marietta to stay with one of her friends. I’m going to school here and taking horseback riding lessons out at Diamond in the Rough. I’m here with my friend Porter. He owns the ranch.”

  Calvin glanced over at Porter, be
fore looking down at his son again.

  “I heard you might be here,” Cat went on, “so I asked him to bring me.”

  “I don’t…” Calvin shook his head. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and then dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Porter watched this with his head down, his hat pulled low. It was the worst kind of awkward, this painful slowing of time, where there was nothing to do but wait for the older man to reply. With what, Porter didn’t know. What could he say? What could he possibly come up with to appease his son whom he’d abandoned? Maybe there was nothing to say. Maybe there was only this terrible silence as the auctioneer called over the speakers, and the sun retreated back into the clouds again. Taking with it its temporary warmth. Its temporary hope.

  Cat took an obvious breath. Even from where Porter stood, he could see the boy was shaking. Swaying back and forth on his thin legs.

  “Why’d you leave?” Cat asked.

  Well, then. The kid wasn’t going to beat around the bush. He was going to get right down to it, and to hell with making small talk to make anyone feel more comfortable with their shitty decisions.

  “Why’d you leave after my mom died?” Cat continued. “Why?”

  Porter felt the sharp edges of that question slice his heart. He let his gaze settle on Calvin, who looked like he was feeling it, too. His mouth settled into an expressionless line, his eyes growing distant and cool. His shoulders stiffened, and he leaned away. Almost as if he were afraid to get too close to Cat.

  He glanced around, as if expecting someone to intervene. To save him from having to answer.

  When he looked back down at Cat, he reminded Porter of a wild horse that had finally accepted its captivity. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.

  Calvin rubbed his stubbled chin, and then answered in a low tone. “I wasn’t any good for your mama, and I wasn’t any good for you. You were better off without me, Tommy, believe me.”

  Cat raised his chin. Porter recognized the fire there. He wondered if this other man would recognize it, too. Be proud of how courageous his son was.

  “I don’t believe you,” Cat said. “I would’ve liked it better if you’d stayed.”