My True Cowboy (9 page)

He was patient with the mare who was shy. Casually waiting for her to approach as if he had all the time in the world.

Susan couldn't help but contrast that attitude with the first time they'd met, when he looked like a caged animal at the hospital cafeteria. That day, she would have sworn up and down that he had patience for nobody.

As they walked on, every so often, Ginny would add a detail, or would embellish the story.

Beside her, Hank looked mesmerized—not by the horses as much as by the man beside them. Gone were his constant questions, as a sort of contemplative speculation entered his eyes. With each moment, Hank seemed to be more and more taken with the somewhat taciturn cowboy.

In spite of herself, Susan knew she was beginning to feel that way, too. This was Cal Riddell in his element, and it gave her such a sense of what the man was really like. Here, she could see how at ease he was with his surroundings, and with the horses.

Gone was the overriding sense of dissatisfaction and stress that had always seemed to emanate from him.

When they walked out of the barn and down a path toward a creek, she looked at him and smiled. “This is where you're happiest, isn't it?”

“Here, at home?” He shrugged. “I suppose that's true. But I imagine most folks feel that way, right?”

Not her. She'd never felt so connected with her home. But maybe that was because she'd been a corporate brat, and they'd moved whenever her father got promotions and new job offers. Her wants and needs had never seemed to matter as much as her father's job.

Of course, she suddenly realized that she'd done the same thing. She'd moved Hank for a better job, and he was suffering for it.

That revelation caught her off guard. So much so, she wasn't ready to share, so she sidestepped it. “Sometimes home doesn't always feel like the best place,” she compromised.

“Not for you?”

“Not always,” she said lightly, skimming over her memories. “Or, maybe not for everyone.” Though he didn't look fooled, she smiled, doing her darnedest to pretend that
she was speaking in generalizations, not from personal experience.

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “There was a time when this place didn't feel like home, either. Mom only lived here for a little while before she died. I used to walk around the house and wonder why we had it. My dad was mourning and my brothers and I were suffering.” He paused and looked away. “Sorry. I don't know why I just told you all that. I don't remember the last time I thought about those days.”

“None of us like being reminded about things that are easier to forget.”

Whoa! Their conversation had gotten deep and almost painful very quickly. If she didn't do something fast, they were destined to start talking about her past, and that was too hard. “Hey, you know what?” she said brightly. “This barn, it's great.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So, that's what we're doing, hmm? Keeping it easy?”

“At least for now.”

Luckily, Hank and Ginny's laughter called them to think of other things. “We better keep an eye on them. Left to their own devices, there's no telling what trouble they could get into.”

“I shudder to even think about it,” she teased.

And when he held his hand out for her to take, she did, feeling warm and happy. And suddenly as if she belonged somewhere. After all.

Just minutes after they got home and she told Hank to take a shower, Betsy was at Susan's back door. “I know you just got home,” she said without preamble. “But do you have a few minutes? Can I come in?”

Susan wasn't thrilled about her neighbor's appearance. It had been an exhausting day, what with work and the unexpected invitation to the Riddell Ranch. All she really wanted to do was get cleaned up and sip some decaf coffee.

And try to come to terms with what was going on between her and Cal.

But Betsy looked stressed out and worried. Obviously, she was in need of a friend—and she'd definitely been more than that for Susan. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you.” Betsy barreled in, looking nothing like her usual freethinking party-girl self. “I'm in a heap of trouble.”

“Then you better sit.” With a sense of dismay, Susan sat in the easy chair next to her. “What's going on?”

Betsy opened her mouth, then sighed.

It would have made Susan laugh if she wasn't so worried. “Bets, just spit it out.”

“I…okay. It's like this. I have another date with Gene.”

“Uh-oh.” Wariness coursed through her. “Have you told him the truth about yourself yet?”

Betsy winced. “Not exactly.” Biting her lip, she ran her fingers through her hair, making it stick up in about a thousand directions. “It's really driving me crazy, if you want to know the truth.”

Susan would've smiled if she didn't think Betsy was about to start crying. “Um, I thought we agreed that living honestly was the best thing to do.”

Betsy held her hand out like a school crossing guard. “Hold it right there. Living honestly is a whole lot harder to do than just planning to live that way. I had lots of good intentions about telling Gene the truth. But time just got away from me.”

“Betsy—” With a strong sense of foreboding, Susan had a terrible feeling that she was about to be talked into yet another thing she didn't want to do.

“No, hear me out. I really had planned to tell Gene that I wasn't quite the woman he thought I was. That I, you know, had been around the block. A time or two.”

“Uh-huh?”

“But, Susan, his eyes glowed when they looked at me. Like I was worth his time. Like I was something special.” She looked at Susan, and there was such a vulnerability in Betsy's eyes, Susan ached for her—even though she kind of wanted to strangle the girl, too.

“You already are worth his time. And special.”

“Honey, I'm not that special. If he knew my complete past, he'd write me off like a tax deduction.”

Susan couldn't help it, her lips twitched. “Maybe not that quick.”

Betsy was too frazzled to see any humor in her situation or Susan's comment. “With Gene, things are different. See, a funny thing happened on my way to taking advantage of Gene. I began to like him.” She darted a look Susan's way. “I like him a lot. It's different, you know, when you
have someone look at you like you might be everything they've ever dreamed of.” More quietly, she added, “It's different when someone looks at you and you start to feel that way, too.”

With a sinking heart, Susan was afraid she knew exactly what Betsy was talking about. That was how she was starting to feel about Cal. That she didn't want to like him, but there was something about him that kindled her interest.

Even though he hardly ever smiled. Even though he was wary about her. Even though he was everything about Texas and roots and she still wasn't even sure if she was going to stay in Electra.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't deny that she thought about him a lot. Had even hoped that there would be more to them than there seemed to be.

Down the hall, Susan heard Hank turn off the shower. In mere minutes, her boy was going to be barreling in, hungry for a snack and ready to talk more about their ranch visit.

The discussion about Betsy's love life was going to have to wrap up soon.

“I feel for you, but you really are going to have to tell him the truth. It absolutely needs to be sooner than later.” She stood up, hoping Betsy would take the hint.

But Betsy simply leaned back with a long, dramatic sigh. “Susan, have you ever met a man who wishes you were more than you were? Who makes you wish you could take a really good eraser and just remove certain parts of your past?”

Susan stilled. “Of course I have.” She'd felt that way today, when she'd been standing across from Cal Riddell. When he'd looked at her, when he'd talked about dreams…she'd wanted to believe, too. She'd wished for a split second that she hadn't hooked up with a loser and now had to constantly put a small boy's needs first.

Which, of course, was a terrible thing to think about. And was something she could never, ever admit to another soul. Suddenly feeling worn out, she sighed. “I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Betsy's eyes popped open. “Actually, I came over for a favor.”

Right on cue, the bathroom door opened. “Mom?”

“Hey, honey,” she said when Hank padded down the hall in his favorite pajamas. “Betsy's here, but she's just about to leave. Why don't you go put your dirty clothes in the hamper.”

“Okay.”

As soon as he turned away, Susan said, “Betsy, cut to the chase. What do you need?”

“I need you to go on that double date with me.”

“No.”

“But Gene has a friend.”

Oh, no. As in, no way. “I'm sorry, I'm not interested. Now I really do need to go help Hank get ready for bed.”

“Please, Susan?” She held up a hand. “Before you say no again, just listen. This friend of Gene's is supposed to be real nice. And he's a plumber.”

Betsy was making that sound like a good thing. “Betsy—”

“Plumbers make a lot of money. And listen, it's just going to be dinner. At the Golden Dove.” She paused meaningfully, then continued in a rush. “Susan, you're gonna want to say yes, if only to get a free meal. And this meal is worth dating a plumber for, I promise. It's the best restaurant in town. And, this plumber knows the Riddells. Maybe he could even give you some information about them.”

“Why would I want that?”

“If you've got a crush on Cal, you're going to need help.
He's tough to get to know. Believe me, I've tried. So, see? There's a hundred reasons to say yes to this double date.”

“I don't think I can get a sitter.” This, of course, was true. She didn't know who she could call…and she didn't know how she'd even pay for it. “Plus, I'm not interested. At all.” Plus, well, there had been something about the way Betsy had talked about Cal that was disturbing. Just how hard had Betsy tried to get to know Cal?

Betsy paused. “I bet I could find you one.”

“Don't.”

“This is important, Susan. It's important to me, and you know what, I think it might be important to you, too. You need a night out.”

Before Susan could tell her no again, Betsy finally stood up and opened the back door. “Just give me some time to work on this. I'll call you tomorrow,” she promised, then three steps later, she disappeared through the hedge.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Susan murmured as she closed the door and locked it.

Had Betsy always been like this? Thinking she wasn't good enough? Looking for a future with one eye out on the man's income?

“Mom, my clothes are in the hamper,” Hank said sleepily as he entered the living room. “But I'm hungry. Can I have some ice cream?”

“Sure,” she said, remembering that she still had a carton of sugar-free ice cream in the freezer. “One scoop of strawberry, then it's time for bed. Okay?”

He yawned as he opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon. “Okay.”

As she set the bowl in front of him, he took a bite and smiled. “Mom, wasn't that ranch cool?”

“It sure was.”

“I liked the horses best.”

“I know.”

“Mr. Riddell said I could come back and ride one.”

“I remember.”

He slid another bite into his mouth. “He said I could swim there, too.”

“I heard that, as well.”

“And that Ginny wasn't so bad.”

“She was a sweetheart.”

Three more bites cleaned the bowl. After handing her his dish, he looked her in the eye. “Mom, do you like Mr. Riddell?”

“I do.” She took care to keep her voice even and light.

Luckily, that was all Hank needed. With a happy smile, he nodded. “Good. I do, too.”

Leaning close, she kissed him, then walked to her own bedroom to get ready for her shower.

But moments later, as she stood under the hot spray, she reflected on her last two conversations. It seemed that in spite of herself, she had already made some decisions about Cal Riddell.

One, she liked him. She really, really did.

And two, she wasn't interested in meeting anyone else. No one could measure up to Cal Riddell Jr. Not in her mind.

It was just too bad they didn't have a future. Today in the barn she'd realized that it was time to get her priorities in order. She needed to go back home, and get Hank settled so he was comfortable.

That couldn't be done in a little Texas town.

Nope, she needed to start thinking about making preparations to head back to Cincinnati. For once she was going to put Hank's needs first.

Even if it practically killed her.

“So what did the doctor say?”

“About what you'd expect,” Trent said from the other end of the phone. “That crazy bull got the best of me.”

Cal drummed his fingers on his desk. As usual, Trent was telling him next to nothing. All his life, he'd done that, treated everyone else's interest as a need-to-know thing. He always had been too cocky for his own good. “Are you going to need more surgery?”

“I don't think so.”

“But they're not sure?”

“A lot depends on how the bones heal,” his brother replied after a moment. After what felt like a too-long moment. Something was up.

That's when it finally clicked.
Bones.
As in, plural.

This time, Cal didn't even try to fight the impatience that was seeping into his voice. He wanted some answers. Some straight talk. Now. “Bones? Trent, I thought you just broke your arm. This sounds like a whole lot more than that.”

“This might be news to you, but there's more than one bone in your arm, Junior.”

“I know there's more than one bone. How many did you break?”

“A couple.”

“Jeez, Trent. I'm already dealing with Dad and his loco answers. Give me the truth.”

“I only broke two. There was a, uh, compound fracture in my forearm.”

“Compound fracture?” Even Cal knew that was bad.

“Yeah, but we're good now,” Trent said quickly. “My arm's all set up in a god-awful cast and healing. Hurts like crazy, though. Satisfied?”

“Yeah. How are your ribs?”

“Beat up.”

“Truth?”

“Three ribs are cracked,” Trent admitted after a lengthy pause. “But my concussion's much better,” he said, brightening. “And there's no fever. Anymore.”

“Anymore?” Cal echoed, feeling a headache of his own coming on.

“And, well, I've got bruises on top of bruises, and I feel like that dadgum bull played volleyball with my backside. But other than that, I'm fine.” He paused again. “Now, before you get all prissy on me, let's move on.”

“I don't get prissy.”

“I called to hear about Dad, not get interrogated by you. Now stop asking me so many questions.”

“Someone needs to. Where are you? Are you still in the hospital?”

He sighed. “I am.”

People didn't stay in the hospital as long as his brother had unless things were bad. Real bad. “Trent, how about I come out there?”

“Please, don't.”

“But I could help you get settled….”

“Cal, I'm a grown man, not your pimply little brother trailing after you in high school,” he said sharply. “It's not like I don't know the risks of trying to last eight seconds
on the back of a bull. Odds are good that if I do it enough, sooner or later the bull is going to win.”

His brother had a point.

But still, it didn't matter how old he got; in Cal's mind, Trent was fourteen again, wanting to tag along after Jarred and himself but never being able to keep up.

Obviously, things had changed. These days, that drive to succeed was serving him well. “All right,” Cal said finally.

“Now, tell me about Dad or I'm going to call over there myself and start being a pain in the ass.”

“Dad's at the Electra Lodge and Rehabilitation Center, recuperating.”

His voice rose. “You stuck him in a home?”

Cal supposed they could both say things that could be misconstrued. “Dad needs a lot of care, and it's going to take some time to do that. I'm no nurse and, well, we both know he's not going to put up with me taking his blood pressure, let alone giving him advice.”

Trent whistled low. “I know that's right. So, how's he doing? Is he behaving himself?”

“More or less. I visited him yesterday. He's doing his best to rile up the old ladies and the nurses there.”

“Shoot. He might even be having fun.”

“He'd never admit it, but I think he's kind of enjoying all the people there. There's more than enough people to piss off—and not a one of them is a blood relation.”

Trent laughed, then inhaled sharply. “Shoot. Don't make me laugh.” After he composed himself, he murmured, “Where's Jarred?”

“Steaming it up in some hotel room in Mexico with Serena.”

“Call him home and get him to help you out.”

“There's nothing he could do that I can't,” Cal said,
though in a moment of weakness he had almost picked up the phone.

“You sure about that?”

“Yep. Somebody ought to be enjoying himself right now. Plus, they're due home in a few days. Until then, I've got things under control.”

“I bet you do.”

A wealth of implication filled Trent's voice. To Cal's dismay, he realized his little brother was once again mistaking his efforts to take care of things as an ego trip. The thought was disappointing. Did the whole family assume he had never wanted anything different?

Or did they never realize he was just trying to do his part?

Feeling perturbed, Cal drummed his fingers on his desk again. “I better get off the phone. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“No, I'll call you. I'm hoping they'll spring me, but it might take a while to get settled.”

“You going to be okay, recuperating at home?”

That surprised another bark of laughter from his brother. “Hell, Cal. I won't be sitting here by my lonesome! You don't really think I'd refuse some pretty girl's offer of help, do you?”

Now Cal just felt foolish. Obviously he was the only Riddell man who didn't have a steady amount of sex. “Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Bye.”

When he hung up, he needlessly straightened up the papers on his desk and then went into the main living room of the house.

But it was quiet. Gwen had taken Ginny out to dinner and shopping. Dad was at the home.

It was just him. Sitting alone in their big house that was roomy enough for twenty people. And their families.

A curious sense of isolation slipped over him. Making
him feel a little like a mother suffering from empty-nest syndrome. It felt strange, knowing that everyone else was able to function without him. At the moment, nobody needed him, and he didn't know what to do.

After wandering through the kitchen, he parked himself on the living room sofa and tried to get comfortable. Bored silly, he reached for the remote. Two clicks allowed him to scan the channels. After viewing an array of unfamiliar sitcoms, he flipped to a sports channel. Tried to be interested in the latest football highlights.

But after a good five minutes, Cal clicked off the remote. He'd never had time to watch television in his life, and it didn't look as if he was going to get interested in sitting in front of the tube any time soon.

With a sigh, he poured out two fingers of scotch and escaped the indoors.

 

C
AL BRACED HIMSELF AND
went out to his mother's rose garden. The mild late-September weather had kept the flowers blooming, and their fragrance drifted over him.

He gingerly sat on one of the ornate benches his father had had designed after her death. Though he'd seen Jarred out here a time or two, and his father visited the garden at least once a day, Cal always avoided it as much as he could.

The garden was beautiful. The benches were works of art.

But being there brought back such intense memories of his mother, it was almost a physical thing, his reaction to being there.

Plain and simply, being in the garden, smelling the roses—it hurt.

He had never thought to ask Jarred and Trent if the scent of roses reminded them of their mom. Maybe he
didn't because he was afraid they'd tell him no and then he'd feel weak.

But even the sight of a rosebud in a vase made memories play in his mind, of how their dad had brought her roses every week during the last year of her life. Cal remembered sitting in the corner of her bedroom when his dad brought in a bouquet. Her eyes had lit up as if that bunch of flowers had been the biggest surprise imaginable.

“Calvin, you spoil me,” she'd always said.

And his father had blushed. His father—who never looked rattled by anything life had to offer—had been constantly rattled by her.

And then he had kissed her pale cheek and told her that he didn't spoil her enough.

Cal would've thought he'd have been embarrassed to be there. No one wanted to see their parents all lovey-dovey. Especially not at fourteen. But instead of feeling awkward, his parents' love had made him smile. And feel secure.

Watching his dad try so hard to make her comfortable during her last weeks had meant the world to him.

Unbidden, his eyes watered. He pulled back a sharp sip of scotch and pushed the sad memories away. No good ever came of remembering things that made him sad. There wasn't a thing he could do about the memories or about his feelings of loss that were suddenly hitting him hard in the gut. He knew that.

This was most probably why he never had been one to sit around and stew. All it did was make a man uncomfortable. Or wish for things that weren't.

But still, for just a moment, he ached to see his mother. To hold her hand, and to listen to her voice. Low and melodious and sweet, it had calmed him like nothing else ever had.

And like nothing else ever would. Except maybe the woman he'd seen yesterday. Susan.

Holding her hand while they'd walked had felt nice. And the curious contentment they'd both felt had given him a much-needed feeling of warmth. More and more, he found himself thinking about her. Remembering how pretty those green eyes of hers were.

Thinking about that pretty head of hair of hers. Imagining her in the shower, the long tresses falling heavy against her back and shoulders.

As the scent of roses became too overpowering, he knew he needed something else to think about. Something else to calm him. So, before he talked himself out of it, he stomped back in the house, picked up his cell phone and dialed the number he'd just added last night. After she'd given it to him.

Just in case they'd ever need to talk.

She answered on the first ring. “Cal?”

“Hey.” Taking off his hat, he scratched his head, suddenly wondering why he'd thought calling her had been the right thing to do.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “Has something happened with your dad?”

And of course she'd be concerned. It wasn't as though he was in the habit of calling her out of the blue. “No. I mean, nothing new.”

“Oh.” She waited.

As he heard her pause, he reviewed his incredibly lame responses so far. No wonder he was sitting home alone while his little brother was with more women than he could count.

Fact was, he had no skills where women were concerned.

“Was there…something you wanted?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. This was the best he could come up with? When the silence hung on, he struggled to think of something to say. “I, uh, was just wondering how Hank was doing.”

“Hank? Oh. Well, he's fine. Actually, he's better than that,” she answered, a smile in her voice. “He's at the movies with a boy from his class. Billy's parents invited him.”

He remembered how worried she'd been about the boy making friends. “So he's got himself a friend.”

“Yes, and I'm almost giddy about it.”

So she was alone. Instantly, his body clicked awake as desire hit him hard. However, he did his best to focus on Hank. The, uh, reason he called. “I think I'm almost as happy for you as him, then.”

“Thank you. I'll take your happiness. It's hard being the new kid in a small town. And he's missed a lot of school, too. And, the teacher told the class he was a diabetic, so everyone right away labeled him as different.”

“You didn't want anyone knowing?”

“No,” she said. “It's not that I didn't want anyone knowing, I just didn't want to mark him as different.”

“But he is different.”

“He has a disease, Cal.”

“Well, lots of kids don't, so he is different.”

She exhaled loudly. “What I'm trying to say is that it's been a good thing that the other kids know. I mean, it helps when the moms bring in cupcakes and Hank has to pass them up. But it's just another reason he's different, you know? I mean, he already doesn't have a father. He's from up north, too. That's really different for here. And sometimes kids don't want different.”

He felt like an idiot. After a pause, he replied, “Sorry. I hadn't thought about those things. I imagine you're right.”
Then, “Who's his teacher? I know almost everyone around here. Maybe I could talk to her….”

“Cal, I don't need you to do that. I can talk to my son's teacher if there's a problem.”

“Oh. Um, sure you can. I didn't mean that you couldn't.”

“You were just trying to take charge?”

“I was just trying to help,” he corrected. “It's a bad habit of mine. I can't help but want to manage things.”

“To do them yourself.”

He felt his cheeks heat. “Pretty much. I'm trying to do better, though. Listen, how about we forget I said anything.”

She paused on her end of the line. “No. Listen, I'm sorry. My son is a sensitive subject for me. I've been really wondering if moving here has been the right thing to do. You're only trying to help, and I appreciate that.”

He chuckled. “Sue, we can't even apologize to each other without arguing, can we?”

“Sometimes we can get along,” she said slowly. “We got along great at your ranch.”

They sure had. Walking to the window, he ran a finger along the pane. Checked for nonexistent dust. Gathered his courage. “Susan, when is Hank due home?”

“Not until about ten or so. They're getting ice cream after the movie.”

“So, what are you doing?” His fingers played with the slats on a pair of blinds, moving them up and down. Honestly, could he be any more awkward and teenager-like?