The Cowboy's Homecoming (9 page)

She took his hand and they started across the field, toward the paved road where he'd parked his truck. She reminded herself that there was a dozer parked at the church, and tomorrow the historical society would be paying a visit to Back Street Church.

And Jeremy wasn't going to be happy.

L
unch was being served from tables set up on the front lawn of the church when an SUV bearing a county license plate pulled into the parking lot. Jeremy had eaten a sandwich that Vera pushed into his hand, while telling him that Chance Martin had rolled through town that morning. For whatever reason, Vera thought Jeremy should know.

It was going to be another long day on too little sleep. After watching Beth drive away the previous evening, he'd sat for hours on the glider outside his RV. Lights had glowed inside the church and he'd heard the soft murmur of voices as people settled in. He'd called his Tulsa dealership and asked his manager to get partitions out of storage and haul them to Dawson so the sanctuary could be divided.

As Jeremy crossed the lawn he eyed the dozer sitting on a trailer close to his RV and then his attention drifted to the group of people getting out of the SUV. Probably officials from the county or state emergency management team. He headed for his RV and his laptop. He was expecting a file from his partner, Dane Scott.

The group of people cut him off, stopping him at the edge of the parking lot. Two ladies and three men. Two of the men wore suits, one played it casual in dress slacks and a button-down shirt. They all had “official business” stamped on their smiling faces and Jeremy had an officially uneasy feeling in his gut.

“I'm not the guy in charge.” Wyatt was in the church and he pointed them in that direction.

“Are you Jeremy Hightree?” the casually dressed guy asked.

“Yeah, that's me. I'm not in charge of the shelter, though. The man you need to talk to is Wyatt Johnson. He has names, family situations, all of the specifics.”

“We're here about the church.” One of the women stepped forward.

“Excuse me?”

Casual guy took over again. “Mr. Hightree, we received a nomination for this church to register it as a historical building.”

Right, of course. He made eye contact with the balding man in a suit, the one who had yet to say a word. He was on the county planning and zoning commission, so Jeremy had seen him before. He should have expected this.

“What qualifications does the church meet to be registered as a historical building?” Jeremy had hoped to have a building started on this spot by now. Instead he was going to have to jump through small-town hoops.

“Well, sir, the church is one hundred years old.”

“This is Oklahoma, a lot of buildings are that old. They can't all be deemed historical landmarks.”

“Mr. Hightree, we are doing research on the build
ing and how it came to be. This is only the beginning of our investigation.”

“Right, so put me off and put off my business another few months. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll get tired of waiting on you and walk away. But then this church will go back to being run-down and forgotten.”

“We're just doing our job.”

“Well, I have a job to do, too. I'm sure I'll hear from you soon.” Jeremy walked around the group and into his RV.

When he walked out with the printout from his computer, they were gone. Kids were playing and a few people had set up lawn chairs under a tree. The men staying in the shelter had left right after lunch. Most of them had property that needed to be cleaned up, debris to haul off, and homes to rebuild or repair. A few of the people staying in the shelter just needed a place to stay until their electricity came back on.

One family had left already that morning. Someone had loaned them a generator.

Wyatt told him that there might be people in the shelter for a week, possibly two. Maybe by then the historical society would be done with their research.

The bike Jeremy was working on was in the barn. He walked across the road and opened the barn door. One of the horses he'd brought with him walked from the corral into the open stall to watch, and probably hope for grain. He'd been fed a few hours ago, so the gelding was out of luck.

He rolled the bike out of the stall and into the center aisle of the barn. Working on the motorcycle would help him clear his thoughts. That's how he'd started in this line of work. While he'd been recovering from
the broken femur and torn-up knee, he'd built a bike for himself, then for a friend. It had been good therapy during his rehab. Within a year it had become a business that kept him busy. And then it had become a business that kept several guys busy.

With the motorcycle in front of him he could pretend that the only thing he had to worry about was building the perfect bike. The perfect chrome for the fenders. The perfect paint job. He straddled the seat and reached for the handlebars. The handlebars had to be perfect, just the right height for his customer. A custom bike was just that, custom. Every inch of it was designed specifically for the person who ordered it.

A truck came up the road. He glanced out the wide double doors and watched as Beth pulled in. She had parked in the church parking lot and as she got out she waved at the two little boys playing with toy fire trucks. She ruffled the blond hair of one boy and high-fived the other.

He climbed off the bike and reached for a rag to wipe his hands. But he sure wasn't going to go rushing across the road to follow her around the way the kids at the church were doing. He had a little self respect.

Not a lot, obviously, because he was definitely thinking of excuses for heading back over to the church.

His attention drifted to the leveled house. Working on it would keep him busy and keep his mind off the one thing he hadn't been able to shake since yesterday—the way it felt to hold Beth. He walked the short distance across the field to the foundation that was all he had left of a house. He picked up a few boards, nails jutting out, and tossed them on a pile of debris.

The best way to clean was probably to pile up the
wood and burn it. He'd try to salvage what wasn't broken into pieces or splintered. Maybe he'd put the good wood in a pile for anyone who needed it for small repairs.

A truck pulled into the drive next to the house. Jackson Cooper stepped out, waving and then turning back to the truck. When he turned back toward Jeremy he was pulling on leather work gloves.

“Need some help?” Jackson picked up a few loose boards on his way over.

“Not really.”

Jackson laughed and continued to pick up boards. “Too bad. Everyone is getting a helping hand. You're included in that.”

“I think we should concentrate on people who really need to get their homes back in order. This is just a frame, or was. I have a place to live.”

“Yeah, well, we have to start somewhere, right?”

Did he mean as family, or did he mean start somewhere on the house? Jeremy let it go, which wasn't easy for him.

“I guess so.”

“I heard about the historical society paying you a visit.”

Jeremy threw a board onto the growing pile of usable lumber. “Word travels fast in a small town.”

“Yeah, it does. You had to know someone would do something like that.”

“I guess I hadn't really considered it.” But now he knew that everyone had a story about Back Street. Today one of the families using it as a shelter had told him about their wedding. Twenty years ago they had walked down the aisle at Back Street. Eighteen years ago their son was dedicated and later baptized at Cooper Creek.

“Remember when we carved our names under the back pew?”

Jeremy threw a few splintered boards into the burn pile and walked away. Jackson tossed another question at him. Jeremy turned. “I remember.”

Jackson grinned at him. “Kind of gets you right here,” he slapped his heart, “doesn't it?”

“Yeah, that's where it gets me.”

And coming across the road was Beth Bradshaw.

She was a complication that he hadn't planned on. He'd honestly thought he'd get this done before anyone really noticed what was happening. He hadn't expected Dawson to have a planning and zoning commission. He hadn't planned on permits and signatures. He really hadn't thought that anyone would care.

He looked past her to the faded church. Two days ago he'd seen an eyesore that no one should miss. Today he saw a place where lives were changed. The stories he'd been told were fresh in his mind, pushing his own story aside because the other stories weren't as painful.

Jackson walked up and slapped him on the back, hard enough to knock him forward a step. “You might want to get that look on your face under control, little brother.”

“There's no look on my face.”

“Yeah, there is. It's the ‘end of the road' look a guy gets when all of a sudden being single doesn't seem like so much fun. So what, you've dated senator's daughters and heiresses. Nothing compares to a cowgirl with cherry lip gloss and a smile like that.”

“I have to go.”

Jackson shrugged and pulled off his gloves. “Me too. I'll be back later to help you clean up this mess.
Might want to put on some aftershave and take her to dinner.”

“You might want to stop playing big brother.”

“No, I don't think so. This is kind of fun.”

Jeremy shook his head and walked away. Fun wasn't the word he would have used for his relationship with Jackson. But then again, it wasn't all bad. Beth walked up the driveway. Her smile was shy and he was always surprised how it made him want to take care of her. She made him want to be an Old West cowboy, the kind of guy that tossed his jacket on a mud puddle for the woman to step on to keep her feet dry.

On top of that pile of emotion was something else he had to deal with.

“You called the historical society?”

She nodded. He had hoped she'd deny it. Instead she came right out and admitted her guilt, or at least her part in trying to stop his plans.

“You brought in a dozer.” She countered with a little shrug of slim shoulders.

“Yeah, I did.” He watched Jackson get in his truck and back down the drive. Jackson tipped the brim of his hat and laughed.

“I'm sorry, Jeremy, but I had to do something. This seemed like the only answer. This church has been here for a long time. If it gets registered as an historical building I can get grants to help maintain it.”

“Beth, is it really about money? People in this town could have come together and done something.”

“I think that time goes by and we all get used to the way things are and think that nothing will change. We didn't know that the trust for the Gibson land, this land, had a limit and that if the church wasn't used would
revert back to their family. The kids who inherited live in Kansas City. They didn't care about a church in Dawson.”

“Well, plenty of people care now.” His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

She nodded and walked away. He watched her go as he answered the phone. She knew how to twist a guy inside out, and he didn't think she realized she was doing it. He'd just about give her anything if he could, but he couldn't let go of his plans for the church.

He thought about the look in her eyes last night, when she'd been in his arms smiling up at him. He tried to block images of how she'd look at him when the church was gone.

 

As Beth crossed the road, Angie Cooper pulled into the parking lot. Beth shot a look over her shoulder and saw Jeremy walk back into the barn. He had to have seen Angie, and of course he was going to ignore her.

Beth had other things on her mind today, other plans to put into action. If the historical society couldn't stop Jeremy, she had a plan B. She would get signatures and go to planning and zoning commission with a petition to stop the building of a commercial business inside Dawson. She'd been doing research and there wasn't a current ordinance to stop Jeremy, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to get one put on the books.

She stopped at her truck and grabbed the clipboard and pen she'd brought with her. When she turned, Angie Cooper was standing behind her. Beth wanted to be Angie someday. A doctor's daughter from Oklahoma City, Angie always managed to look put together. She
was cool under pressure. Her clothes were never wrinkled and her shoes always worked.

How did a person get to be Angie Cooper? Maybe because she'd survived. Angie had survived a dozen kids. She had survived learning that Tim Cooper was Jeremy Hightree's father. Some said she had always suspected.

“How is he?” Angie waited for Beth to close the truck door and fell in next to her as they walked toward the church.

“He?”

“Jeremy? This can't be easy for him, coming home after so many years, and now this.”

Why would Angie ask her about Jeremy's well-being? “I think he's okay.”

Or he was until she'd turned the historical society loose on him. And how would he be when he saw the petition? She swallowed misgivings.

“What is that?” Angie indicated the clipboard with a nod of her head.

“It's a petition. I'm going to try to stop him from doing this.”

Angie looked at the church and sighed. “I'm not sure if that's the best thing to do, Beth.”

“Why wouldn't it be? This church is a part of our community. We can't walk away from it and let him do this.”

Angie slipped an arm around Beth's waist. “People have reasons for doing what they do, Beth. From the outside it looks like he's doing this for the wrong reasons. But it isn't all about the past. We all work through our anger in different ways.”

The biggest reason to be like Angie Cooper, she was a forgiving woman. She was a class act.

“He'll regret this.”

“Maybe, but we learn from our regrets. We learn to do better the next time.”

Beth realized she had a long way to go before she would be like Angie Cooper. “I know you're right.”

Angie laughed a little. “But you're still going to stand between Jeremy and this church.”

“If I have to tie myself to the porch to keep him from dozing it down, I will.”