Along Came a Cowboy (19 page)

Mom is looking at Jack, but she's talking to me.

“I could use a walk after that delicious meal,” Jack says obediently. I feel like I'm in a soap opera. “I'd like to show you something, Rach. Will you come with me?”

Do I have a choice?

It is a beautiful day, however, and the sweet scent of Mom's crepe myrtles finds me and unlatches the hold my parents' matchmaking has on my mood. I shove my hands into my jean pockets and find my own gait, aware that Jack has shortened his stride to match mine.

He says nothing until we've hiked up the back pasture toward the thicket that once upon a time served as my favorite hiding place.

“Apparently, only one of us knew what plans your mother had on her mind today,” Jack says finally as we slip into the cool alcove of the trees.

I lean against a big hickory. Our horses graze in the pasture behind our house, and a few cattle lounge in the summer pasture. From here I can see clear over to the Lazy W, Jack's beautiful red barn, the horses in his corral.

Jack notices the direction of my gaze. “I can see your parents' house from up there,” he says, pointing opposite his barn to a hill that climbs up to a jagged cliff. “Ever since I was old enough to want to be by myself, I'd hike up there and spend some time.
Time with God and with my own thoughts. Sometimes I'd see you out riding and wonder if you'd ever notice me as more than just that pesky guy next door.”

“I didn't think you were—”

“Since I moved back, I've seen you ride in the early mornings some. I've wondered if you've been avoiding me on purpose.”

I pray he will attribute my red face to the hike.

“I guess that's why I felt like maybe you ending up on the centennial committee was God's doing.”

Ron and Alma's doing, more likely. But Jack's speech touches me. And that scares me. “You've watched me?”

Jack's brown eyes shine as he answers me. “I wouldn't say ‘watched.' I'd say. . .‘noticed.' And that's nothing new. I've noticed you—from far away and up close—since I was old enough to notice any girl.”

Oh. My throat is thick. This is the second time he's alluded to my past—and the fact that he was there when. . .well, when everything went south. But I don't feel the same fear as a couple of weeks ago. Now I just feel warm, down to my toes.

I push away from the tree and deliberately shove away the warmth. I climb up past the woods, to the path that leads along the ridgeline. “You said you wanted to show me something?”

I know this land like the back of my hand, but I'm still surprised when Jack veers off the path and cuts through the rock, taking a route toward his place.

“I'm sorry you got the wrong idea at the concert, by the way,” he says over his shoulder.

I ignore him.

“But it wasn't a date. She had tickets. And if I had known you were a fan—”

“You wouldn't have gone?” Oops, that's too hopeful. “I don't want you to—”

“I would have gotten tickets and asked you to go with me.”

Oh.

We have descended a small gully, in a wash that borders the back side of his land and butts up to a small offshoot of Spring River. I've been here a few times years ago, but back then this was just a brook. Now it seems to have cut away the bank and become more of a shallow creek meandering over mossy rocks, tucked inside a wooded glen of hickory and oak.

I stop and breathe in the smell of summer skimming through the forest. The birds chirp, the water burbles, and I want to stay here forever. “I'd forgotten this place was here.”

Jack holds out his hand. “C'mon. We need to cross.” He doesn't wait for me to consider, just grabs my hand and pulls me across stepping-stones to the other side before I can resist.

It seems, with Jack, that happens a lot.

“Where are we going?”

Jack looks at me, still wearing that dangerous smile. “You've been around this land all your life, Rachel. But I think you haven't a clue what you might be missing.”

I don't have time to give him a skeptical look as he turns and continues along the other side of the creek. He doesn't let go of my hand, however.

And, stupid me, I don't let go either.

The walls of the forest rise up on either side like great fortresses protecting us in our special place. Or giant monsters looming. Depending on the day and the company. “When I was about eight years old, I hiked over the ridge. This was about as far as I got before I turned back, afraid the trees were going to kidnap me. I've never been any farther.”

Jack squeezes my hand, as if he knew that already.

I'm not going to speculate. He veers away from the water and toward an opening in the rock that runs parallel to the
creek. “You'll have to turn sideways, but it gets roomier once you get inside.”

Turn sideways? But I don't have time to ask before he disappears into the crevice in the rock. He still has my hand and gives it a tug.

O-kay.

The little cave is shadowy, with only the light from the slit in the rock to illuminate the room. Jack's hand is tight around mine as he moves us through. The cool air is damp and smells of moss and lichen. I touch the sides then pull my hand back. “Where are we?”

“Right at the edge of where my land meets your folks'. Billy Blake and I found this place when we were kids. We spent more than one summer playing
Gunsmoke
in here. I was Matt Dillon, and he'd be a different bad guy every time.”

I grin at this. Makes sense. I can't imagine Jack playing the bad guy. “Figures.”

“This place is one of the main reasons I bought the land when Mom got ready to put it up for sale.” He tugs on my hand. “We have to go through a little tunnel. Just hold on to me. I know where I'm going.”

I'm not sure why, but those words rush over me, and I pull them in, close to my heart. Here in the dark where I can't see my footing, I need to know that I can trust him. And I do.

I see a spray of light and hear a rushing. The air feels cooler, wetter.

“It's just around this bend.” Jack's hand guides me toward the source. And then, suddenly, we're in an amazing wonderland.

A waterfall tumbles over bumps of white rock, crystals that reflect the light from a high-up source. A spray of water from the splash catches in the sunlight and refracts a rainbow
prism. It's as if the cave has collected jewels, right here on the back side of our land.

“It's gorgeous, Jack.”

He turns to me, and I feel him edge closer. “Yep. See, you never know what's hiding right in your backyard.”

“Okay, fine. I give up.”

Jack turns to me. The light, shiny around his head, picks up all the highlights in his hair. And perhaps there's a lack of oxygen down here, because I'm getting a little woozy.

“Will you be my date to Allie's rehearsal dinner and wedding?” Yep, definitely woozy.

Jack smiles, and it's a slow, sweet smile. “Well, Blair already asked me to the wedding. But since you asked me to both, I'll ditch her for you.”

“Ha ha. You are soo busted. Allie would never invite Blair to the wedding.”

Jack makes a “You got me” noise and grins. “I just wanted you to know that I'd choose you.”

He'd choose me.

See, I knew cowboys were trouble.

I
f I ever get married, I want a night just like this to celebrate with my friends. Breathtaking, as if God reserved this day just for Allie as His special gift to her. The sun lingers on the horizon, spilling out lavenders and rose-golds across the park, soothing the heat with a soft breeze.

On the picnic tables, Allie has arranged purple passion flowers and accented them with white orchids that add elegance to the casual barbeque rehearsal dinner. Daniel's collection of cool jazz plays on the boom box out of sight. A perfect mix for an eclectic evening. Allie is sending off a glow of joy that feels catching. I'm not sure if I want to get near her or not, thanks to my own current confusion about Jack.

Allie's girls are hanging on Daniel. Soon he'll truly be their dad, and their feelings are evident by their beaming faces tonight.

God certainly surprised them all with Daniel.

Yeah, if I ever get married. . .

Okay, enough of that kind of thinking. Because I'm not getting married. . .ever. . .maybe.

The word
married
makes my gaze fall on Jack as if I'm a
smart bomb zeroing in on my target. I'm still in shock that I asked him to be my date for tonight. I've decided to blame it on the way he kidnapped me, brought me into his lair, and hypnotized me with the ethereal beauty of the waterfall.

It's a good thing he hadn't tried to kiss me.

Or is it?

Yes, it definitely is, because my powers of resistance are crumbling. And it doesn't help that he cleans up well, in a surprising attire of black jeans, pressed designer shirt, and sports coat. It's getting hard to think of him as just the boy next door.

Apparently, he's spent his rodeo winnings well.

“So, what made you decide to bring Jack?” Lark glides over to me, staring at Jack. She also has a glow, and I know it has to do with the baby coming. Everyone's glowing these days.

Am I glowing?

Oh boy. “My mother made me ask him.”

Lark eyes me. “Okay, are we in middle school? Did she threaten to ground you? Take a wooden spoon to you?”

“She practically asked him herself at Sunday lunch.” Jack looks over, meets my eyes, smiles at me.

Am I still standing? Because I feel as if the earth has moved under my feet.

“Yeah, I can see you were forced,” Lark says with a shake of her head. “Too bad he's such an ugly cowboy.”

I ignore her massive sarcasm and focus on the last part. A cowboy! I'm out with a cowboy. See, I should carry note cards to remind myself.

“I don't know what I'm doing, Lark.”

I'm not sure where that confession came from, but Lark seems to, because she weaves a hand around my waist and leans her head against mine. “I do. I think you're finally starting to forgive yourself.”

I step away from her, shocked at her words. But she smiles at me and nods. “It's time, Rachel. Time to let go of your guilt and forgive yourself for your childhood mistakes. God obviously has—look at that incredible, uh, niece you have. And Jack, well, by the way he's looking at you, I think he thinks you're his own gift from God.”

He does seem to smile at me whenever he looks my direction. And I have absolutely no control over my reaction, because every time he does, my heart performs a little two-step.

“How are things going with Sheila?” I've been dying to know but haven't seen Lark alone until now.

She frowns. “Not as great as I'd hoped but probably better than Craig expected.”

“Are you and Craig okay?”

Her gaze flickers to where her husband is chatting with Adam and Daniel. “We are. He's having a hard time understanding. . . . Sheila is apparently having a difficult pregnancy. She's missing work most days and doesn't feel like doing the most basic things—like picking up her dirty towels off the bathroom floor.”

“So you're waiting on her hand and foot? She's only five months pregnant. She seems nice enough, but can you keep this up for four more months?”

“Do I have a choice?” Lark takes a sip of her punch. “Where's Jenn? She looks so pretty tonight, her hair down, wearing that sundress. She said it was one of yours. Are you two the same size?”

I recognize the subject change for what it is, but I play along anyway. “I used to be her size. It's an old dress.” Who knew that someday my daughter might be wearing the green summer dress that hung in the back of my closet all those years?

My
niece
, I mean, not my daughter. My niece is here visiting for the summer and happened to try on a dress I had when I
was younger. If I try hard enough, can I forget the rest? Not as long as her unwitting comments continue to make me feel as if I've betrayed her instead of having made the hardest choice of my life in giving her up. I just want to put a pillow over my head and scream. Do I really have to tell her?

I know the answer to that question. I just don't know how. Or when.

And deep inside I keep thinking that maybe it will all go away.

“I don't see her,” I say, slowly scanning the crowd. And it is a crowd. I think Allie invited everyone she knew.

There's Vic, and of course Adam, probably verbally sparring over some trite issue. And Allie on Daniel's arm. The smell of barbeque has my stomach wishing it was time to eat.

“She was with that cute cowboy earlier.”

I glance at Lark. “What cowboy?” But already I know the answer.
The
cowboy. The one who definitely
wasn't
invited. But the one Jenn can't seem to stop talking about. The one who flirted with her Sunday as they did the dishes. I know, because I walked in on them having a towel-snapping contest, Jenn all breathless and laughing.