A Cowboy's Heart (6 page)

“I will miss her if she goes.” She was looking out the truck window. “But I won't sell the bulls. I'll figure out a way to make it work.”

“Tell her that.”

“I'll tell her.” A short pause, and then she laughed. “That's why she wants you working on the ranch. She's making sure I have someone to help me. I was afraid it was all about matchmaking.”

“She's always trying to protect the people she cares about.” But he had sort of thought it might be about matchmaking, too.

They drove toward Grove and past the house that Clint still planned to remodel. Soon. Clint's mind switched in that direction, and away from Willow, thinking about that house and what needed to be done. He thought about the cattle he wanted to raise on a farm that had been neglected for more years than he could count.

And then his thoughts returned to a part of their conversation that he had heard, but hadn't really thought about.

“Your parents sent you to the States alone? Why?”

She shrugged. “They had a busy schedule, school was starting. That summer they realized how bad my hearing was. I hadn't really noticed. Or maybe I had adjusted without realizing. As it got worse, I paid more attention to lips when people spoke, and I asked a lot of questions. But that summer my hearing got progressively worse.”

The information poured out of her, surprising him. She was so matter-of-fact, so accepting. But he was imagining how it changed a person's life, to be unable to hear conversations, or to be left out of what was going on.

“But they sent you across the world, alone. That couldn't have been easy.”

She shrugged as if it didn't matter, but he wondered if that was the truth. “Who has a perfect story, Clint? Not you, not me. Some have stories that are a little sweeter, with less pain. But almost everyone has a story. My parents love me, but they were busy with their careers. And frankly, I was a little embarrassing. I was a clunky kid with thick glasses, hearing aids and a penchant for hiding in corners.”

“You were a clunky kid?”

“Tall, scrawny, and clunky.”

She had more stories, he knew that. What had sent her running to Oklahoma and Aunt Janie? What kept her hiding in that corner and pushing people out of her life? Did it all go back to a little girl who thought she'd embarrassed her parents?

But she was right, everyone had a story. And he wouldn't push for hers. His story sat in the back seat of his truck, two little boys that needed him to focus on their lives, and their well-being. And he had a history of poor choices in the romance department that made him more than a little gun-shy.

As if she understood, Willow glanced over her shoulder, her
smile real, and not meant for him. “You know what, guys? I think we should eat pizza before we have ice cream.”

It was that easy for her to shift the conversation away from her, to make it about two little boys. He thought she'd had a lifetime of experience, deflecting attention from herself. She knew how to build walls.

He had built a few himself.

 

Willow walked through the door that Clint held open for her and the boys. A wall of cold air greeted them: someone wasn't afraid to turn their air conditioner on before June. Willow shivered and the boys reached for her hands, one on either side.

She smiled at the hostess who mumbled something about seating them. A hand waved from across the restaurant. A farmer that had sold her a few cows. She nodded a greeting and then he noticed Clint.

“Great.” Clint spoke close to her ear. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Willow pulled out a chair at the table the hostess had led them to.

Before Clint could answer, the farmer, Dale Gordon, stood next to their table. He was a big guy, with striped overalls and a wide smile.

“Clint Cameron. I'd heard you were back in town. Don't tell me you're going to try and make something of that old farm.”

“Sure am, Dale.”

“Might as well sell it to me.”

Now Willow understood. She pretended to help the two boys with their napkins as she listened to bits and pieces of conversation.

“I'm not going to sell something that's been in my family for over a hundred years, Dale.”

“It was in my family first.”

“Your granddaddy lost it in a poker game. Tough luck, but I'm not selling.”

Dale laughed. “You've always been hardheaded.”

“Sure have and so have you. I think we're cousins, at least six or seven removed.”

“Something like that.” Dale patted Clint on the back. “Let me know if you change your mind about the old place.”

“Will do, Dale.”

Willow smiled up at the waitress who had arrived to take their order. She was a cute girl with blond hair in a ponytail and pale blue eyes that sparkled with sunshine when she smiled at the boys.

“Can I take your order?”

Clint looked at Willow, waiting for her to order. Now would be the time to tell him she really didn't like pizza. She smiled and ordered a salad. Clint ordered a large pepperoni pizza.

“Has he always wanted that land?” Willow turned her coffee cup over for the waitress to fill it.

“For as long as I can remember. There were a few times I was afraid my dad would sell. He always sobered up and came to his senses.”

She tried to picture Clint as a kid, holding his family together, the same way he was holding it together now.

“It couldn't have been easy.”

His brows arched at that. “What couldn't have been?”

“Your dad.”

“It wasn't all bad.”

She waited for him to tell her more. But he didn't share. Instead he moved aside their drinks and the napkin holder as the waitress arrived with their pizza. The boys lifted their plates for a slice, and for the first time in a long time, Willow was tempted by pizza. The crust was soft, and cheese dripped.

Clint laughed. “You can have a slice. Surely you're not on a diet.”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. I'm not much of a pizza person.”

Both boys were staring, eyes wide. She felt like she'd just announced something scandalous. Clint laughed again.

“Have a slice, Willow.”

Pizza, a day with Clint and the boys, and her heart tripping all over itself. Willow didn't know how much more she could handle.

“Okay, one slice.” She took the plate with the pizza. Clint handed her a fork.

“You'll like it better if you just pick it up and eat it. But I have a feeling you're a knife-and-fork girl.”

She didn't take the fork. “Don't make assumptions, Clint Cameron.”

The pizza was hot, but she picked it up and took a bite. And she wasn't sorry that she had. She smiled at the boys as she pulled the slice away, cheese stringing along behind it.

“Okay, I admit it, pizza is good.”

Clint put another slice on her plate and moved her salad aside. “Some things grow on a person.”

Yes, some things did.

They were finishing lunch when Clint stood and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. Willow moved David's cup away from the edge of the table and shot a glance in the direction of the man walking away from them, the phone to his ear and his conversation lost to her.

“What kind of ice cream would you all like when we get to the ice cream parlor?” Willow smiled at Timmy, who licked sauce off his fingers and then reached for his soda. She handed him a napkin.

“I like bubble-gum-flavored.” Timmy blew bubbles into his soda with his straw and spoke out of one corner of his mouth.

Willow couldn't have heard correctly. “Bubble gum?”

He nodded, “Ice cream.”

It sounded disgusting. David didn't answer. His gaze held hers and she saw the tears form. “Oh, sweetie, what's wrong?”

“I like chocolate, and my mom puts stuff on it,” he whispered,
and his thumb went to his mouth. A look from Timmy, and he pulled it back.

Willow pulled him close and wanted to hold him forever, because she understood how it felt to lose something important. And she couldn't begin to know how a four-year-old could cope with that loss. Even if it was only temporary. He was a baby who needed his mommy to tuck him in, to tell him stories and sing to him.

Willow had always wanted to be someone's mommy.

How did she tell a child that God understood, and that time really did heal? How could she promise him that God would bring his mom home safe?

David's sun-browned arms wrapped around her neck. A hand fell on her shoulder, and she pulled back. Clint stood next to her, his concerned gaze on her, and then on his nephew.

“That was the nursing home. They're having problems with my dad. I need to see if I can help them calm him down. Or give permission for them to take him to the hospital.”

“Do you want me to stay with the boys? I could take them home.”

He shook his head and his gaze lingered on Timmy first and then David. He was carrying the weight of the world on broad shoulders, but were they broad enough? His sister gone, his dad sick, and two boys who needed him.

How did he manage to take care of everyone, and himself?

“You could drop us off at the ice cream parlor,” she suggested, hoping to make it easier for him, hoping he would see that she could handle two boys and ice cream.

He shook his head again at first, but then he smiled. “Okay, I'll drop you off. This shouldn't take long. And if it does, I'll text you.”

Text, not call. She smiled. “Okay, it's a plan.”

When she walked through the doors of the ice cream parlor with two little boys, each holding a hand, she felt a funny leap
in her heart. For a short time, she could fill this role in their life. She could be the soft touch.

It was easy, dealing with them, loving them. They were safe.

 

Clint's dad had dementia. They'd explained it to him before, about small strokes and alcohol. But he didn't always grasp the reality of it until days like today, when his dad was angry at the world. He had thrown apple cake at a nurse's aide, made rude comments to one of the other residents and then fought with his nurse.

It didn't feel good, having to send him to the hospital. And now, it was hard to smile as he walked into the ice cream parlor. But he did smile.

He smiled because it was easy when he saw the boys scraping the bottoms of their bowls, and Willow licking around the edges of a cone.

David had finally eaten enough to make Clint feel like the kid might survive. The boy had even eaten a couple of slices of pizza.

“Hey, how did it go?” Willow asked, after a bite of cone.

“Good. He's fine.” Okay, not fine. But Clint could take care of this on his own. He was used to taking care of his family.

He looked at the boys and realized just how much Willow and Janie had helped since Jenna left. With his arm still in a sling, and sore from the exercises the doctor had given him, keeping up with two boys was a chore.

Willow smiled and pointed to the seat next to hers.

“Thanks.” He sat down, aware that she was six inches away and smelled like springtime.

“Want ice cream?” she offered, taking another bite of hers.

“No, I'm full from pizza.” He patted his gut. “Got to stay in shape.”

She laughed. “Oh, of course. I forgot.”

“What, you don't think we take our sport seriously?”

“I know you do. I also know enough about bull riding to know you aren't sitting on the back of a bull for another couple of weeks.”

“I think I have something to say about that.”

“I think Dr. G does, too. She'll be back, and you'll be in big trouble.”

“Well, I can't stay off tour for long.”

Her smile faded. “I know.”

“Thank you for doing this with the boys.”

“I'm the one who's thankful. I've had a great afternoon.”

Clint glanced at his watch. “I hate to ruin it. We should probably head home.”

Home. He ran the word through his mind again. It had been easy, saying it like that. His home was really a run-down farm a half mile from hers. But her farm had become his home.

And she looked pretty uncomfortable with that.

C
lint ran the bull into the chute, glad for the roof of Willow's indoor arena. The rain had started yesterday, after they got home from having ice cream, and it didn't look like it would let up any time soon. He really needed to practice before the next event. He needed to know that his shoulder would stand up to the pressure of riding.

Clint climbed on the back of the bull, remembering the first time he'd ridden one, and how that experience had made him feel. He'd loved the sport from the beginning—the challenge, the friendships, and even then, working out frustrations with his dad.

The bull, young and inexperienced, went to his knees in the chute. Clint nudged, hoping to convince the animal to stand. Brian, the kid who helped Willow part-time, reached through the gate and gave the bull a push.

“He ain't comin' out, Clint.” The kid, sixteen and already missing a tooth from a bad bull wreck, grinned.

“Go ahead and open the gate.” Clint leaned, tentatively preparing to lift his left arm, his free arm. It ached, but nothing he couldn't handle. He had to grit his teeth and get through it.

The gate opened, the bull stayed on his knees. Brian took his hat off and shook it at the animal. Like a bottle rocket, the bull
exploded out of the gate, taking them both by surprise. Clint hunched, his shoulder protesting the sudden movement.

“Keep your chin tucked.” The feminine voice carried, combining with the rush, the pounding of his heart and Brian whooping at the side of the arena. “Watch your free arm. He'll switch and spin left if he thinks he can't get you off to the right.”

He heard, and listened. She knew the sport, and she knew what it took to stay on her bulls. But he had to think fast on a ride that could last seconds.

No buzzer. He finally took the leap, hoping to land on his feet, not his shoulder. He tripped as he went down and held his breath for contact with the ground. When he landed, he rolled, and the bull ran off. Good bull, giving a guy a break.

He stood, stiff, and afraid to test his shoulder. It hurt. That was all he needed to know at the moment. But he could move his arm. That was a plus.

“I don't know why you guys do it.” Willow shook her head as she approached, picking her way across the arena in high heels that made her taller than ever, nearly as tall as he was.

He was tall for a bull rider. He liked that she didn't have to look up to him. He liked that he could hug her and she'd be at eye level.

He wanted to hug her. But he smelled like bull, and she had walls. He didn't want to confuse the two possibilities—attraction, or just his stubborn need to protect. He didn't know which fit his feelings for her, and didn't want to analyze. And she was dressed to go out. He let his gaze slide over the black pants and black-and-white top with sheer, gauzy black sleeves. She smelled like something expensive and floral.

She cleared her throat. “Clint, should you be riding?”

“I needed some practice if I'm going to make that next event.” He reminded her of the event she'd already questioned him about. “I can't afford to lose my sponsors.”

“You can't afford a serious injury to your shoulder.”

“I'm used to dealing with it, Willow. I know what I can take and what I can't.” He glanced back at Brian. “Go ahead and put him up for the night.”

“It was a good ride.” Willow spoke, but she looked off toward the gate, not at him.

“Thanks. Where are you going?” None of his business, and he should have kept it that way.

“Tulsa. I'm meeting friends. I won't be home until tomorrow. Maybe late.”

“What do I need to do around here?”

“If you can feed. And keep an eye on Janie.”

He laughed at that. “Janie doesn't want a keeper any more than you do. The two of you are more alike than you realize.”

“We know how to take care of ourselves, Janie and me.”

She smiled, and his mouth went dry. He almost gave in to the urge to hug her, to hold her tight. He wanted to taste lips that smelled like strawberry lip gloss and bury his face in hair that smelled like citrus.

And those thoughts should have been enough to convince him that he was losing control, and forgetting his priorities. Two little boys, a sister in Iraq, and a dad slowly drifting away from reality.

His reality. No time for relationships, and no time for pursuing a woman that didn't want to be pursued.

“Well then, I guess I'll go.” She took a step back, and he moved with her.

She looked vulnerable, and a little lost. He couldn't let her leave like that, no matter what his convictions, or hers. And he didn't plan on confusing his need to fix with love.

“Willow, are you okay?”

“Of course I am.” She glanced away, and he wasn't convinced.

He touched her cheek to turn her, and her eyes closed. Before she could move away, he leaned, not pulling her to him but
keeping his fingers on her cheek. He kissed the strawberry gloss, and she kissed him back.

When she stepped away, he saw regret. He hadn't wanted to make her regret. He didn't want to regret either. But maybe she was right. It was the wrong time, the wrong place.

She had walls that he didn't have time to climb or break down.

“See you in a couple of days.” She touched his lips, wiping away the gloss. “We shouldn't do that again.”

He didn't agree, but then again, he did.

 

The restaurant was dark and the conversation at the table was quiet, hands moving, sometimes words, and with the curious stares of people around them. Willow watched the lips of a friend, but her mind wasn't on conversation or friendship.

She was thinking about Clint, and the kiss. She was thinking about regret. She was thinking about tomorrow.

W
HERE ARE YOU
, W
ILLOW
? Angel signed. Angel had been profoundly deaf since birth and didn't like to speak orally in public.

Willow smiled when Angel nudged her. “I'm sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

T
HE DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT
? Angel signed.

“And the man my aunt hired to help me.”

I
S HE CUTE
?

“He's cute. He's likes to take care of people.”

The waiter approached with plates of food. Willow waited until they were served before continuing. She sprinkled salt on her vegetables and passed the shaker to Angel.

C
UTE
AND
SENSITIVE
, Angel signed and shuddered. T
HAT'S BAD
.

“I'm not saying it's bad.”

Y
OUR EX-HUSBAND HURT YOU
, W
ILL, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANOTHER GUY WOULD.

“I'm not going to let him, because I'm not looking for a relationship. I have a life now, the life I want.”

Y
OUR LIFE ISN'T REALITY, A LIFE WITH NO ONE TELLING YOU WHAT TO DO
. W
HAT'S THAT ALL ABOUT
? Angel's eyes sparkled with humor.

“It's safe.”

Angel took a bite of pasta and spoke as she chewed, her hands signing with passion. “S
AFE” ISN'T LIVING
. “S
AFE” IS A COCOON THAT SHUTS THE WORLD OUT.

Big words from Angel, who lived in the deaf culture, her world of choice. Willow lifted her brows, the only response needed to bring a smile from her friend. And then Angel signed, I'
M DATING SOMEONE.

“Hearing?”

Y
ES, HEARING
. Angel flushed a light pink. A
ND HE LOVES ME
.

“Where did you meet?”

Y
OU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE IT.

“Try me.”

Angel smiled. A
T THE GROCERY STORE
. M
Y CART HIT HIS
,
AND HE ACCUSED ME OF DOING IT ON PURPOSE
.

Willow laughed. “Did you?”

She couldn't imagine her shy friend doing anything to draw attention to herself, but the pink in Angel's cheeks flushed a deeper shade.

“You didn't!” And then everyone was staring, people at their table, and at other tables.

D
O YOU HAVE TO ANNOUNCE IT TO THE WORLD
? Angel reached for her glass of water and smiled at the curious friends, all waiting for an explanation.

I'
M SORRY
, Willow signed, and then explained to the others that she was happy for Angel, she had a new man in her life.

T
HE FIRST MAN IN MY LIFE
. Angel's pink cheeks remained flushed. I'
M TWENTY-SEVEN, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE
, I
THINK
I
MIGHT BE IN LOVE.

“I'm happy for you.”

Angel shook her head. N
O, YOU'RE WORRIED
. Y
OU THINK HE'LL HURT ME
. T
HE WAY
B
RAD HURT YOU
. Y
OU THINK HE WON'T BE ABLE TO ACCEPT MY DEAFNESS.

“That isn't what I think.” But didn't she feel that way? Hadn't she always believed her parents had sent her away out of embarrassment and Brad had divorced her for the same reason?

There had been other relationships. She didn't want to go down that path tonight, thinking about past hurts.

Y
ES, YOU DO
, W
ILLOW
. Y
OU THINK HE'LL REJECT ME
. Angel smiled to soften the words. B
UT HE LOVES ME
. A
ND WHEN SOMEONE LOVES YOU, THEY ACCEPT EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU
. H
E'S EVEN LEARNING SIGN LANGUAGE
.

“You're right, and I'm sorry.”

W
HERE'S YOUR TRUST
?

“Trust?” Willow thought maybe she'd heard wrong, in the shadowy light of the restaurant, maybe Angel had signed something other than the word “trust.”

T
RUST
G
OD
. Y
OU NEVER KNOW WHAT
H
E CAN DO IF YOU OPEN YOURSELF UP.

“You're right, Angel. And I'm so glad you've found someone.”

Willow hugged her friend and let the conversation end, because Angel deserved to be happy, and not all relationships ended in pain.

 

The words of the doctor the next day undid any feelings of strength she had imagined the previous night with Angel and her other friends. Sitting alone in his office, just a nurse for company, Willow listened as he explained that her hearing might continue to decline. To what degree, he couldn't be sure until the test results came in, but he wanted her to be prepared.

Prepared for profound hearing loss. A hearing loss that would make her hearing aids virtually useless.

For weeks she'd convinced herself that it wasn't happening.
It was just her imagination. Now she had to face reality. If she couldn't hear, how would she manage at bull riding events? How would she keep her business going?

The doctor apologized, and then he handed her the card of a psychologist, because she might want to talk to someone. She numbly took the card and shoved it into her purse.

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Tears burned her eyes as she walked out of his office and down the hall, but she wouldn't let them fall. She wouldn't cry. Not yet. She would process this information and deal with it.

She would survive.

She would do more than survive. God hadn't brought her this far to forsake her. She hadn't started this new life to give it up. And there was a chance that the test results would come back and show that this was temporary. Or that the progression wouldn't continue.

She took a deep breath and tucked her purse under her arm, feeling stronger for having convinced herself to have faith. Sometimes it took a little convincing when things looked dark.

She saw him in the lobby, a figure in faded jeans and a polo, leaning against the wall near the water fountain. He was wearing his tired-looking straw hat, and a toothpick stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He straightened as she approached, his smile quick and sure. She hadn't been forsaken.

God had sent a friend.

And she really needed a friend. He held her gaze as she walked toward him. She remembered her regret yesterday, when he'd kissed her. She remembered the confusion she'd seen in his eyes.

But he was here now. That had to mean something.