The Cowboy's Homecoming (10 page)

A few minutes later she was explaining the petition to the Johns family and they were signing it. Of course Jeremy would pick that minute to walk into the church. He walked down the aisle, toward her and then with a shake of his head he turned back toward the door.

Beth followed him out the door, where he stopped at the top of the steps. He stared straight ahead, giving her only his unshaven profile and strong jaw to look at. When she reached him, he shook his head a little and looked down at her.

“Beth, do you have to be the one doing this?”

“I'm sorry.”

He shook his head and walked down the steps. “I'm sure you are. If anyone asks, tell them Scrooge is helping the Matheson family clean up their farm.”

“Jeremy, I am sorry.”

He walked across the churchyard, stopping to talk to one of the little boys playing under the oak tree.

Beth watched him leave and she held on to the clipboard knowing that some things you couldn't take back.

T
he Matheson farm had taken a pretty hard hit. Jeremy stood next to the pile of debris that had been a barn and shook his head. People around here didn't let a little thing like losing everything chase them off from their homes and the town they'd grown up in.

Since he'd been born and raised here, he knew a thing or two about standing his ground. He regretted that it had to be Beth he came up against in this battle. When he thought about Bethlehem Bradshaw he remembered her in his shirt, her in his arms. Now he had the image of her with that stupid clipboard full of names.

He pulled his gloves back on and grabbed the wheelbarrow he'd been using to cart old shingles and pieces of metal that were scattered around the yard. A chain-saw buzzed in the background as the trees that had been toppled were cut up.

He'd give this job another hour and then he needed to head for Tulsa where he still had a business that needed his attention. He had three custom bikes going out next month and a dealership that was receiving a shipment of new bikes next week.

The other thing he needed to do was talk to his lawyer about the trouble brewing with the building. That didn't sit well with him. Yeah, he wanted the business built on a site that already had utilities, water and septic, but he wasn't interested in a legal battle that would tear the community apart.

As long as the church served as a shelter, he had time to think about what he should do and how to move forward. For the most part, people were thankful that he had opened Back Street as a shelter.

Reese Cooper had slapped him on the back earlier and told him that it meant a lot to the community.

He rounded the corner and Ryder Johnson jumped out of the way. He raised his hands and grinned. “Watch out, it wasn't me.”

Jeremy tried to smile. “Well then you're probably the only one.”

Ryder walked with him to the pile of debris that they'd burn after everything was cleaned up. “It's been a rough couple of days in good old Dawson.”

“Yeah, it has.” And they weren't going to talk about the church. Jeremy would have said thank you, but that would have brought it up. “Did Rob Matheson get an appointment in Grove?”

“Yeah, he headed that way about two hours ago. It'll probably take all day, but he has to do something. He didn't have insurance on his tractor. The insurance on the barn won't cover what was inside it.”

“That's a tough break.”

“It is. He's in a mess of trouble if he doesn't get temporary funds to keep him going.”

“We might have to do some kind of fundraiser to help out the folks in town who don't have enough insurance
to cover everything.” Jeremy had talked to Wyatt about the same thing.

“Yeah, that's what Wyatt said. Maybe the idea of a rodeo would work.”

“Might, if we can get participation from outside Dawson. Wyatt is going to work on it.”

Ryder pulled gloves out of his pocket. “I'm going to get back to work. Sara is on her roof over there, nailing down tarps. Their kid is helping, but I think he's only ten.”

Jeremy followed the direction of Ryder's gaze. Sure enough Sara Matheson had climbed up on the roof of her old farmhouse. She had blue tarps stretched over the roof that covered the back rooms of her house.

“Later, Ryder.”

Ryder nodded and walked off. Jeremy went back to work with the wheelbarrow.

After hauling a few more loads from the house to the burn pile, Jeremy pulled off his leather gloves and headed for the table that had been set up with cold drinks and coffee. He poured himself a paper cup of sweet tea and took a long drink.

Vera walked over to stand across the table from him. The owner of the Mad Cow seemed to be everywhere, helping everyone.

“Vera, I don't know how you do it all.”

She took his cup and refilled it. “You do what you have to do, Jeremy. You know that. We know how to survive here in Dawson. We've been through more than one tornado. We've been through more than one crisis. Folks always find a way to bounce back.”

“Yeah, but you're giving away more than you're taking in right now.”

“Now, Jeremy, you know that God will take care of me. He always has. Remember when my house burned down years ago? My neighbors were there before the fire trucks. They helped me clean up and rebuild.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He hadn't been very old, maybe thirteen. He and some of the boys in town had helped her out at the Mad Cow for a few days after the fire.

Vera winked and handed him a sandwich. “Most of us understand about the church, Jeremy. We don't want it gone, but we understand.”

He hadn't expected that at all. Sara Matheson walked up though, ending the conversation.

“You doing okay, Sugar?” Vera poured Sara a cup of iced tea.

“We're going to make it, Vera.” Sara took the tea and smiled at Jeremy. “Thanks for all your help today.”

“I'm sorry you all got hit this hard.”

She'd shrugged it off but a tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away and smiled. “It could have been worse, Jeremy. We weren't here. None of us were hurt. I even found my wedding ring. Actually, Wyatt found it in the yard this morning.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Jeremy tossed his cup in the trash. “I'm going to get more work done before I have to leave. Let me know if you need anything.”

As he walked away, Jackson followed him, his hat pulled low and dirt streaking the front of his T-shirt. Once, years ago, they'd been told they looked like brothers. At sixteen, Jeremy had laughed and said he wasn't near as ugly as Jackson.

But when he'd looked in the mirror that night, he'd seen what that other person had been talking about. It had spooked him back then, made him wonder things
about the dad he'd never known, the guy his mom had told him had just been passing through.

It had been tough, growing up, being the man of the house from the time he could pull on his own boots. It had been tough, trying to model himself after men in the community that he'd looked up to, men like Tim Cooper. Man, he'd been modeling himself after his own dad.

“This is a mess.” Jackson picked up a piece of sheet metal and tossed it in the wheelbarrow Jeremy pushed across the lawn.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Dad wants to talk to you.”

Jackson as the family messenger. Jeremy would have put Blake, the older, more mature Cooper in that role. Jackson, though, he was easy to talk to. Blake had his own life, his own problems.

“Nah, I don't think I want to do that.” Jeremy toed his boot into the dirt and looked off to the west.

“You should. This isn't going away, Jeremy.”

At that, he laughed. “The only thing that doesn't seem to be going away is you. Every time I turn around you're there. It's getting kind of old.”

Jeremy started to walk away. A hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. He turned, looked at the hand that held him without giving. He shook loose but Jackson didn't back off.

“Jackson, I don't need more history lessons. I'm tired of the past.”

“Then why are you acting like you're still living there?”

“I didn't think I was until I came back here and found out how much you people hold on to it.”

Jackson grinned big. “Yeah, we do have a thing for
holding on to the past. Most of us don't have a dozer aimed at a church.”

“When did you start caring about church, or about what happened to Back Street?”

Jackson shrugged. “I never stopped caring about church. I went all my life. I guess I kind of figured I had it handled. I'm okay with God. And that church didn't do a thing to you.”

“No, it didn't.”

“Have a talk with him, Jeremy.”

“Right, I'll think about that.” And he'd think about jumping in front of Jim Pritchard's big black Angus bull, too. Never.

Jackson slapped him on the back. “You know how I know you're a Cooper?”

“How's that?”

“That stubborn streak. Yeah, that's Cooper through and through. No way can you possibly be wrong. Am I right?”

“I guess so, you're a Cooper.”

Jeremy walked off with Jackson's amused laughter ringing in his ears. He tried not to think about growing up alone when he'd had brothers just a mile down the road. Jackson, Reese, Blake, Travis and Jesse. Yeah, it would have been nice to be a part of their lives.

Stubborn. Yeah, that stubborn streak was a mile wide.

Wyatt Johnson, present at nearly every cleanup Jeremy found himself at, turned from the foundation that had been a barn until just a few days ago. Jeremy wondered how the guy did it all.

“Jeremy, how's it going at Back Street?” Wyatt stepped back and stood next to Jeremy.

“I imagine as well as can be expected. What about you, Wyatt? Burning the candle at both ends, aren't you?”

Wyatt grinned. “Both ends and in the middle.”

“Don't you have a pretty new wife at your house?”

“Yeah and I couldn't do this without her.”

“What, run a ranch, pastor a church and tend to the entire town of Dawson like it's one of your kids?”

Wyatt didn't seem bothered by the observation. He shrugged, still smiling. “This is our community, Jeremy. And you feel the same way. If you didn't, you wouldn't be doing everything to help out.”

Jeremy turned to watch the group of men, a few women and even kids that had showed up for this cleanup at the Matheson farm. There was a list at the church. Each home or business that needed help was on the list and volunteers signed up to be there.

“Yeah, this is our town.”

Wyatt laughed. “Isn't that a country song? Isn't there something about a girl whose name he painted on the water tower?”

“I never painted anyone's name on a water tower.” Never. And it had never bothered him before. Today, for whatever crazy reason, it did.

His heart felt kind of like a lonely old dog left on the side of the road. He laughed. That wasn't a country song, but probably should be.

“I think I'm going to take a drive.”

Wyatt tipped the brim of his hat. “Don't be climbing no water towers, Jeremy.”

“Why, are you the town cop on top of everything else?” Jeremy managed a smile and even laughed a little at the idea of Wyatt with a badge and a Bible.

“Nope, not the town cop. But I know the guy who will take you down if you hurt his sister.”

“Yeah, I'm not planning on going there.”

But on the way through Dawson his eyes did stray to the old gray metal water tower. He grinned, remembering Wyatt's words and the reality that he'd never painted anyone's name on anything. He'd never thought about settling down.

And yet, he had a strange urge to buy a can of spray paint on his way out of town.

 

Jeremy had been gone for two days. Not that Beth kept track of his whereabouts, but the RV had been strangely quiet. A town that had been without him for several years now seemed quiet and lonely without him there.

Beth knew that her actions might have driven him away. Maybe not permanently, but at least for a few days. The historical society was still researching Back Street Church and the planning and zoning committee were looking into zoning for commercial businesses. The wheels were all set in motion and Beth regretted her part in it.

Beth spent day three after the tornado delivering sandwiches to work crews in the area and to families that were toughing it out in damaged homes with no electricity. It had turned hot and humid, making it more miserable for everyone involved.

She had turned off the main road onto a dirt road that led down to the creek where she'd spent a lot of her childhood playing in the cold, clear water. It would feel good, to take off her shoes and wade in the creek, to forget everything going on in Dawson.

She parked her truck in the grassy clearing and pulled the keys out of the ignition. As she walked down the trail a tiny shard of apprehension slid through her middle. Or maybe it was common sense telling her to be careful. She walked a little farther and stopped. The creek bubbled along, a rushing, energetic sound. In the distance she heard the steady hum of a tractor engine and on the road the crunch of tires on gravel.

She walked a little farther, closer to the creek, deeper into the woods. The air was cooler and a soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. When she reached the creek she leaned against a tree to kick off her shoes.

The sound of shattering glass stopped her. Birds flapped over head and flew among the branches of the trees.

Beth froze, her breath holding in lungs that refused to cooperate. The sound of metal and glass. And then the sound of a vehicle starting and racing off.

Her legs shook and refused the order to run.

She couldn't run back to her truck. What if someone was still up there? What if it hadn't been her truck, hadn't been what she thought? Maybe someone had been in a wreck? Or perhaps tossed something out a window?

But no matter what, she couldn't force herself to walk back up the path. She was frozen in that spot, stuck in the past and in memories of Chance's abuse.

The old Beth stood there, afraid to move, afraid of what he'd do next. It had been that way for so many years. Always the fear of what would push him to lose his temper.

She edged down the path, to a spot that allowed her a clear view of her truck and the reality that someone
had indeed been there, and she had been the target. The windows were cracked and splintered. A dent creased the door of the truck.

What now? She wasn't going to cower. She wasn't going to cry. She was going to be the new Beth, the one that took charge of her life. The one who didn't shake in her shoes. If only she could convince her legs of that fact.

For a long moment she stood on the shadowy path, surrounded by trees and things that scurried in the fallen leaves. She listened for the return of the car or truck that had driven away. Whoever it had been probably wouldn't return. But she wasn't going out on that road, either.