Along Came a Cowboy (13 page)

“So you're resolving not to be so paranoid about Jack?” Allie asks.

I nod. “It's not his fault he was around that summer.”

“No, it's not. You grew up together, for goodness' sake,” Lark says. “And it was one thing when you were just avoiding him, although I personally thought that was silly. But now that you have to see him on a regular basis, you might as well be friends.”

Allie gives me a sideways grin and holds up a beautiful cream lace wedding dress in front of her. “Or whatever you want to be.”

“Friends,” I say firmly. “Just friends. Nice dress.”

“Hey”—Allie slides the dress back onto the rack—“do you think Jenn would like to sit at the guest book?”

“Oh, I'm sure she'd love to, Allie, but you don't have to include her just because she's staying with me.”

“I'd love to have her. I'll ask her next time I see her.”

“Look at this one,” Victoria says from a few feet away. She slides a simple off-white tea-length dress out from the rack
and holds it up for us to see.

Allie gasps and lunges toward it. “That's the one.”

“Don't be shy. Tell us how you really feel,” Lark says dryly. “Try it on.” Vic passes it to Allie, and we all traipse back to the dressing room to wait.

In a few moments, Allie comes out, the elegantly simple dress the perfect complement to her long blond hair and blue eyes.

I stare at her. “You look like Sleeping Beauty.”

“Only awake,” Lark adds.

“It is the one, isn't it, Al?” Vic asks.

She nods. “Mission accomplished.”

Lark pats her stomach. “In that case, let's get started on the next mission.”

“Bridesmaids' dresses?” Allie asks, her voice muffled in the cubicle.

“First things first. Bridesmaids must eat.”

“Luckily,” Allie says, as she comes out of the dressing room wearing her regular clothes and smoothing down her hair, “we can kill two birds with one stone, as Lark's granny always said, and go see Mama Ruth.” She looks at the time on her phone. “I told her we'd be there between ten thirty and eleven.”

Victoria nods. “Brilliant.”

The rest of us quickly agree, and ten minutes later, we reconvene at the huge kitchen table of Shady Grove's quintessential wedding planner. Mama Ruth has been planning weddings since long before it was vogue to have or be a wedding planner. She calls it “putting on.” She “puts on” a wedding and handles everything but the wedding dress.

After we pick out the fabric and pattern for the bridesmaids' dresses, Mama Ruth brings out a huge platter of doughnuts and a hot pot of coffee. I ignore the doughnuts but go for the
caffeine. Everything in moderation, after all.

Mama Ruth pats my shoulder as she passes out napkins. “Doc Rachel, it looks like we'll be planning your wedding next,” she says.

“Is there something you're not telling us?” Victoria mutters beside me.

I glare at her then smile up at the older woman. “No wedding plans for me,” I say, infusing my voice with cheer.

She shakes her head. “Soon. I saw you on TV the other morning. There were enough sparks between you and Jack Westwood to start a forest fire.”

Victoria bursts out laughing, and Allie and Lark quickly put their hands to their mouths, no doubt to cover their own smiles.

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Don't believe everything you see on TV, Mama Ruth.”

She pours me another cup of coffee. “Denial is normal at first.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “Jack and I are just friends.”

She looks over at Allie. “Isn't that what you kept telling me about you and your Daniel? That you were ‘just friends.' ”

Allie nods mutely. Her hand is still in front of her mouth, but her eyes are dancing.

Mama Ruth nudges me. “See? Don't forget me when it's time to make the wedding plans.”

I just nod and take a big gulp of coffee then push to my feet. “If we've got the details all ironed out, I'd better go.”

I wave at everyone then drop a kiss on the older woman's wrinkled cheek. “Thanks for the coffee.”

As I let myself out, I hear her say, “Denial. But that's normal.”

My friends—the traitors—all laugh.

I
tap gently on the hospital room door then peek inside. Ron is lying in the bed, unmoving; no one else is in the room. The big man looks smaller somehow. Beneath his hospital gown, his leg is heavily bandaged. I motion Jennifer to follow me, and we tiptoe in. I set the flowers on the rolling tray beside his bed.

“We'll come back later,” I whisper to Jennifer.

“No need for that; you're here now,” Ron says dryly from the bed.

I spin around. “I thought you were asleep.”

His brown eyes look tired, but they're twinkling. He pushes up to a sitting position. “That's what you were supposed to think. If you were Alma.”

I grimace. “I thought she was helping you.”

He grunts. “Depends on what you mean by helping.”

I introduce Jennifer, who smiles politely and accepts Ron's invitation to the TV remote control and a place on the minicouch in front of it.

I motion to Ron's heavily bandaged knee. “So, how are you?”

“Had to practically take my whole kneecap off and put it back on. But they say I should be able to go home Monday.”

“That sounds really painful. But it's wonderful that you'll be back home soon.”

He shrugs. “I guess. But at least here I have some protection. Alma's bound to want to take care of me at home.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Have you ever seen
Misery
with Kathy Bates? Alma could be that woman's evil twin.”

I laugh then cut it off when he glares at me.

“Why else do you think she's here, if not to make me miserable? She's getting me back for every time I've ever disagreed with her since this whole centennial thing started.”

“Maybe she just wants to help you.”

He snorts.

“Good morning,” comes a cheery voice as the door swings open. Alma, holding a cup of coffee out in front of her, stops when she sees me, her smile growing broader. “Dr.—Rachel, what a happy surprise.”

“Hi, Alma.” I introduce Jennifer, who looks up from the TV with a smile.

“What a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you.” Ever since Jennifer's been here, I've been afraid someone will remark on the resemblance between us, but thankfully, either the resemblance is a figment of my imagination or no one finds it worth mentioning, since she's my sister's daughter. Either way, I'm relieved.

“How are you doing?” I ask Alma.

“My arthritis is acting up a little in my left hip, but I'm doing well, considering.” She hands Ron the coffee. “I finally found that coffee shop you like. Half caf, half decaf, just like you ordered.” Alma's voice is lilting and sweet.

He takes a sip then sputters. “Did you put two sugars in this?”

“Yes, and one creamer, just like you said.”

He sets it on the tray, and she immediately picks it up. “What's wrong with it?”

He shrugs. “It needs more sugar, but it's all right. I don't have to have coffee.”

She smiles and sets the coffee back down. “I'll tell you what. Since you've got company anyway, I'll run down to the cafeteria and get a few packets of sugar, and you can fix it like you want.”

“I can do that—,” I start to say, but she holds up her hand.

“It'll do my hip good to get some exercise.”

“You might as well bring more creamer, too, if you're going,” Ron says.

When she's gone, I turn back to Ron. “Oh, I can see how she's making you miserable.”

He nods. “It's awful. She can talk the spots off a leopard. Never quiet.”

I shake my head. “I was being sarcastic.”

He looks startled and then a sly gleam comes into his eyes. “You in cahoots with her? Drove all the way down here to make fun of a sick man?”

This time I snort. “Actually, I came to check on you. And to talk to you about the rodeo.”

“What about it?”

“Did you see
Wake Up, Shady Grove
this week?”

He nods. “That was some good publicity. Did you two script that?”

“Hardly. My patients couldn't quit talking about it. Blair made me look like a lunatic.”

“Now that's a little strong. It's her job to play up the conflict.”

“Everything that wasn't conflict is apparently lying on the cutting room floor.”

“Conflict sells. And we need to sell tickets to the rodeo.”

“Blair aside, I need some input. I think I'm in over my head.”

I ask about workers for the concession stand, and he shakes his head. “Too hard to get volunteers. Let Westwood handle it. Make the money back by using Blair's show to get us as much free publicity as you can. If she wants to see a soap opera between you and the cowboy, give it to her.”

I ignore his last advice. “What about Jack's ten-ten-ten idea?”

“Sounds logical. He's right. Most people do come to see the bull riders. Discuss it further. But no matter what he says, if you don't want to do it, stand your ground.” He glances at the door and lowers his voice. “Can't let this family push us around.”

I clear my throat. “How do you feel about goat tying?”

He laughs. “It's always been a part of the rodeo in these parts. Next thing you know, you'll be wanting to do away with mutton bustin'.”

I can feel my face grow hot. “I do want us to be careful about our weight limit on the mutton busting. Mama or Daddy setting the little tots on the back of a sheep is not a big deal, but I've seen some kids want to give it a try who weigh as much as any of the sheep do. Nothing fun about watching a sheep collapse as soon as Junior gets on his back.”

“Get you some scales and weigh those little darlings.”

I grin. “How soon can you come back to the committee meetings?”

He reaches over and pats my hand. “You're doing a fine job. If all goes well, I'll be there the opening night of the rodeo to cheer you on. Might be using a cane, but I'm planning on being there.”

“I hope you can be.”

“You getting along with Westwood okay?”

“About as well as you are with his mama.”

He cringes. “Ouch. That bad?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, let's put it this way. He's not bringing me coffee then running his legs off to make sure it's fixed the way I like it.”

I see a hint of chagrin in his expression, but before he can reply, Alma comes back in. “It's our lucky day. I found both sugar and creamer down at the nurses' station.”

She hands them to Ron, and he nods.

“Alma?” I say. “Are you coming back to the committee meetings?”

She frowns. “I don't think so. I'll have my hands full taking care of our patient here.”

“I'm sure Ron can get an in-home nurse and free you up—”

A loud groan comes from the bed, and we swing around to see Ron holding his knee. “Spasm,” he chokes out, his eyes locked on Alma's face. “Pillow?” he asks pitifully.

She hurries over to tuck a pillow under his knee then turns back to me. “I can't leave him. I'm so sorry, dear. But you and Jack will do just fine.”

I'm almost positive I see a grin flit across Ron's face, but when I take a second look, his grimace is firmly in place.

When the phone rings, I instinctively sit up in bed and grab it from the nightstand. “Hello.”

“Dr. Donovan, it's Judy Costin.”

Relief courses through me just as it does every time a patient calls in the middle of the night and it's not Tammy or my parents. That puts being awakened at—I glance at my alarm clock—2:00 a.m. into perspective. “Hi, Judy. What's wrong?”
I push my hair back off my face and swing my feet around to the floor. Cocoa and Shadow jump instantly to their feet.