Cowgirl Come Home (2 page)

She couldn’t make the same claim by the time she reached baggage claim. The cluster of people pressed together around the conveyor belt was enough to make Bailey plop her butt on an open bench and fish out her phone.

She’d told her mother not to make the drive from Marietta until Bailey’s flight was on the ground. Bad weather in Denver had delayed her connection, and Bailey hadn’t wanted to cause her mother any unnecessary stress. There will be enough of that once OC comes home from the hospital, she told herself.

How would a physical disability change OC, she wondered? Or would it? She’d met several amputees at San Joaquin Valley Rehab. Doubles. Even one quad. Some navigated the new, uncharted waters with more grace than others, but not a single person pretended their lives would carry on without change. From what Mom told her, Dad was fervently, emphatically in denial.

As OC is about anything that implies personal culpability.

“Bailey?” a man’s voice asked cutting into her thoughts.

Bailey’s chin shot up—and up farther. A tall man in a white Stetson, jeans, boots and blue short-sleeve cotton work shirt with the name
Paul
machine-embroidered above the chest pocket stood a foot or so away.

“It is you, isn’t it?” His eyes, the color of a Montana summer sky, lit up. His tentative smile sent her heart galloping across the open prairie on the time-travel express. “Girl, you’re skinny as a rail. Don’t they feed you in California?” He made a face. “Oh, crap, don’t tell me you’re a vegan?”

“Paul Zabrinski?”

The last person she expected to see today. But when your luck sucked as bad as hers, anything was possible. “What are you doing here?”

She tapped her forehead.

“Dumb question. This is an airport. You’re meeting someone. Hey, you look great. How long has it been?”

Even dumber question. She knew exactly how long it had been. Life-changing drama had a way of leaving an indelible mark.

She held out her hand, which felt stupid and forced, but she honestly didn’t have the oomph to stand and hug him—which probably wasn’t the right response, either, given their history.

His smile dropped. He wasn’t the boy she’d kissed till their lips were chapped. He’d added a couple of inches of height and twenty pounds that filled out his shoulders and gave his face more character. Cute? Not anymore. Now, he was handsome. His blue eyes the stuff they wrote romance novels about.

“Coming up on fifteen years in August. Hard to believe, huh? Did your mom tell you there’s a new director of the Chamber of Commerce in Marietta? The fair’s going to run for two weeks this year.”

He chuckled in a manly way that made the woman inside her—the woman Bailey thought died with Ross—ache for a pair of strong arms around her. Even for a moment.

She pushed the foolish, pointless yearning aside. Her husband had been dead for over a year, but the tender feelings between them had been gone even longer. “No. Mom didn’t tell me. We’ve mostly talked about Dad. And the business.”
Which, apparently, is on the skids.

Paul’s sandy brows pulled together. “Tough break about your dad. I was putting the finishing touches on the handicap ramp for his wheelchair this morning when Louise asked if I could meet your plane. She’s afraid to leave him alone. I guess he’s been pretty depressed lately.” He looked toward the thinning crowd. “Which bags are yours? I’ll grab them for you.”

The question sent a syringe of panic straight into her spine. She sat upright, clutching her backpack as if it held superpowers. She’d have jumped to her feet and raced back to the plane, demanding they let her in, if she could walk that far. “Did you say you’re here to meet…me?”

You hate me,
she didn’t add.

“Your mom’s been tutoring my daughter. She knew I was coming to Bozeman today to drop off the kids. Californians aren’t the only ones who do carpooling, you know.”

“But…how come you’re not at the hardware store? Mom said you’re running it now.”

“The boss can take off when he wants. That’s the only good part about being the boss, believe me.”

Although his tone seemed a bit less idealistic than it had in high school, she doubted he was giving up on Zabrinski’s Big Z Hardware. He was too stubborn, for one thing. And he’d had tons of plans once he took over from his dad. “This place is going to be more than just a hardware store when I get done with it, Bailey. You’re not the only one with dreams, you know.”

And, from what little news her mother had shared over the years, Zabrinski’s Big Z had carved out a niche market that held its own when the big box stores moved into the area.

She was glad he’d done well for himself. “That’s very generous of you, Paul. Especially considering…our history.”

He removed his hat and leaned over in a mock bow. “I was seventeen and heart broke. Everything looks black and white when you’re young. Funny how age and life puts things in perspective. In hindsight I’d say I overreacted with the whole curse thing,” he added in a way that sounded rehearsed.

Bailey rubbed the localized pulse of pain between her eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking your curse pretty much came true.”

“Oh, crap,” he said. “When I heard about the accident. Your husband dying. Losing your stud horse. The thought crossed my mind that Great-grandma Hilda really did a number on you. But, Bailey, you have to know I never meant for anything horrible to happen to you. Not in a million years. I mean that.”

She wished his flustered apology meant something to her. It didn’t. She knew who was to blame for the disaster her life had become, and it wasn’t Paul Zabrinski.

“I was kidding, Paul. Shit happens. Just ask OC. You didn’t curse him, too, did you?”

His look of horror made her smile.

“I didn’t think so.”

She blew out a breath, exhaustion making her a little light-headed. “I came back for Mom. She’s going to need help once OC gets home, and I figured free rent for a few months would give me the nest egg I need to plan my next move.” Hawaii sounded kinda nice.

He pointed toward the luggage area. “Which suitcase is…?”

He did a doubletake. “No. Let me guess. The two leopard print hay bales?”

Her cheeks heated up. Ross used to give her grief about the amount of junk she lugged around on the road. “One of them is my…um…work.” She needed to get in the habit of calling her jewelry making a business. Maureen had stressed the need to focus on what you
can
do, not on what you can’t.

I can’t ride, rope, race barrels. I can make baubles for boots and hats and purses. Big whoop.

“Your mom said you were designing western jewelry. Don’t tell Chloe. She’ll be bugging you for samples. We went round and round about her getting her ears pierced.”

Chloe? His daughter, she presumed. “My dad wouldn’t let me get my ears pierced, either. So Marsha Biggins did the deed with a potato and her mother’s needle when we were fifteen. Did you give in?”

“Her mother did.”

His flat, resigned tone raised questions she didn’t have any right to ask.

“My ex is remarried and lives here in Bozeman. We share custody. All very civilized and the kids seem to be okay with the arrangement, but…it’s not exactly what I had in mind, you know?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, instead walking to the carousel to wait for her bags to complete another revolution.

Thanks to the concussion she suffered in the accident her short-term memory impeded her ability to recall what she had for breakfast, but a crystal clear memory from one of hers and Paul’s conversations appeared in her head as if it were engraved on her heart. “I want what my parents have, Bailey. They fell in love in the sixth grade. We won’t have that, but I know you’re the one for me. My soul mate.”

Hearing a seventeen-year-old kid speak with such conviction had scared her. Bailey felt barely formed at the time, open to becoming the person she was meant to be, not ready to settle into someone else’s preconceived idea of who she should be. “We talked about this, Paul. I’ve been honest about my dreams since we first started dating. College. Pro Rodeo. A breeding program and a ranch. Where? I don’t have a clue.”

The fact that Paul’s vision of marriage was so far removed from her frame of reference proved all the more reason why they had no chance of making a life together. At the time she believed marriage was a prison, with an abusive jailor holding the key. She’d promised herself never to make the same mistakes her mother did.

Funny thing. Promises were a lot like dreams—only as good as the person making them.

Somehow, without intending to, when she married Ross she’d returned to her roots: codependency, spousal abuse, passive-aggressive behavior…with the bonus gift: unfaithfulness.

She’d broken the heart of the cutest, sweetest boy she’d ever known and look what she had to show for it—nothing. Not a damn thing. She was back home in Montana. Broken. Defeated.

She watched Paul grab both suitcases before they could make another revolution. Her jaw went slack watching his muscles flex beneath his shirt as he lifted them effortlessly. The Paul Zabrinski she’d known in high school had been a skinny little boy compared to this man. Back then, she’d been the athlete. Now, she could barely walk without limping.

She got up when he started toward her. How did he keep himself in such great shape, she wondered. Maybe, someone in Marietta had opened a gym. She hoped so. Her ankle was getting stronger every day, but her recovery wasn’t a hundred percent yet.

“Where are you parked?”

“Just across the street. Your mom gave me her Handicap Parking thingee to hang in the window of my truck. She told me your leg was still jacked up. I half-expected to see you on crutches.”

Bailey lugged one strap of her backpack across her shoulder and reached around for the other. Paul dropped the bags and hurried to help.

She hated being dependent on anyone, but sometimes even the simplest things stopped her in her tracks. He guided her hand through the strap and settled the bag on her shoulders.

His fingers felt warm and capable. And this touch left an impression she swore sank all the way through her skin to the bone.

“Thank you,” she said, trying not show how flustered he made her. She headed toward the exit. Slow and steady. One foot in front of the other as Maureen always preached.

The only way she’d survive her brief but necessary return to purgatory.

*

Paul opened the
passenger door for Bailey before hoisting her oversize bags to the bed of the pickup. The luggage fees must have cost a bundle, he thought. Marietta gossips had Bailey making out like a bandit thanks to a big insurance settlement. The truly unkind had said even worse…that her marriage was over, that her husband had left her for another woman, that Bailey’s professional career was on the skids even before the accident that claimed her husband’s life, along with the life of their prize stud horse. He tried not to listen, but how did one break a habit of a lifetime?

“I’ll get the air on for you in a minute.”

Black truck. Gray interior. A late spring day with a cloudless sky and temperatures soaring to the low seventies. “Do you need help getting in?”

“I think I can do it.” He could tell by the determined set of her shoulders she planned to figure out a way to climb into the lifted cab unassisted—even if she screwed up her ankle doing so.

“Oh, hell, no.”

He placed his palms square against her waist, his fingers framing her lower ribs, and lifted. Her weight—or lack of it—shocked him.
Is this what California does to people? Shrinks them? Like those horrible dancing raisins?

He had to lean in to place her on the seat—just has he would have a child. This brought his face close enough to smell the scent he would forever associate with summer nights and kissing under the stars. He didn’t know the name of her perfume—or even if it was a bottled scent—only that it was Bailey Jenkins. His first love. The one he never got over, if Jen were to be believed.

Although his fingers lingered momentarily, Paul forced himself to step back and walk to the bed of the truck. He kept his mind on what needed to be done—no chitter chatter. A coping mechanism that came in handy when you were the youngest in a family of boisterous, opinionated people.

He loved his family—and missed them now that everyone had scattered. Austen to Helena, Meg to Missoula, Mia still in Cheyenne. His folks summered here and Mia’s two kids came for a month around fair time, but once Halloween was over, his parents joined other snowbirds in New Mexico.

Normally, while in Marietta, Dad helped every day at the store, which was not without challenges. But his parents were staying with Mia at the moment. His poor sister was in treatment for breast cancer
and
going through a divorce. Talk about bad luck.

Paul shoved the giant suitcases into the bed of the truck and closed the tailgate. When he got in, the first thing he did was hit the AC, but Bailey reached for the power button in the door. “Could we open the windows instead?”

Paul was positive he’d never heard those words from his ex-wife’s mouth. Not evva, as Chloe liked to say. “What about your hair?”